I was able to find my friend Pat right away at the April 19th demonstration in Clackamas County. It wasn’t as crowded as the downtown Portland protests, for one thing, and also she said she was right in front of the Chick-fil-A. Something about holding up lefty signs in front of the Chick-fil-A felt just right. I shouldered my sign and strode up.

Then I noticed the two women just next to us. They looked to be maybe in their baby-forties. Hell, I can’t tell anymore. They were grinning at us. I smiled back.

“I am so inspired,” one of them began, “by seeing so many of you…you know, you”—she waggled her hand toward Pat and me, suddenly uncomfortable, and I saw where she was struggling.

“You mean us old farts?” I laughed.

That was exactly what she meant. But she jumped in with “elders.” Not sure that helped.

“I mean, I’m looking around, and most of the people here are…you know…”

I do know. Bless her heart, she did not want to offend us. We’re not offendable, but I guess she can’t assume that. The weird thing is, when I first saw her and her friend, earnest, fresh-faced, and carrying signs, I thought we were peers. It rarely occurs to me that I look as old as I do.

And I totally do. That stuff comes down on you hard and fast, at a certain age. Most mornings I get up and dress and wash my face and run a brush through my hair (just the once, for all day), and only then put my glasses on, but the other day I had my glasses on first, then went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror, with the morning sun coming in from the side, full on. It cast shadows on my face. Regular wrinkles looked like canyons. A riparian topo map, complete with delta below the chin. Tiny jackrabbits jumped the arroyos.

I’m very nearsighted. Without my glasses I have God’s own photo filter on my face and everything seems on the up and up.

But I will be go to hell if my Great-Aunt Gertrude wasn’t in that mirror. Last I saw Great-Aunt Gertrude she was 102 years old and didn’t look a day over 110.

Basically I have no realistic idea what I look like and have to rely on the view from inside my face, and that view hasn’t changed in 71 years. The fact that a well-meaning stranger has my old ass pegged from the get-go comes as a surprise. I did look around, and she was right: there was a serious over-representation from the boomer generation on that thoroughfare. I look at them, the gray-haired women in sneakers, the gray-bearded men with pencil-sized ponytails and hand-painted signs, and I think: Hey! Long time no see! Want to grab a pizza and some Quaaludes and play hacky-sack on the quad later?

And I see the middle-aged ones like our new friends and I relate to them too: Good for you, you up for beer and barbecue later?

I can’t even tell how old anyone is anymore. Thing is, at this point, I’ve been almost all of the ages. Of course I can relate.

This protest was a new one for me. I’m accustomed to going downtown to the big crowds. The friendly crowds. The crowds where you figure you can ask for a book recommendation or advice about native plants from the next person you bump into. But here we were edging into red territory. And sure enough, as we lined both sides of Sunnyside Road (without hindering traffic), we saw some middle fingers. We heard some profanities. We blew kisses when black smoke belched at us from some big toddler’s truck, a lib-baiting practice called “rolling coal.” That little vehicular alteration can cost up to $5,000.

That could buy lot of eggs.

But they were way outnumbered by the honks of approval. This thing is turning around, people.

I’m proud to have made the acquaintance of the two young-er-ish women who were so inspired by our boomer presence. My first demonstration was the Moratorium March on Washington DC in 1969, against the Vietnam War, I told them. My dad and I went together. And she—I pointed to Pat—chained herself to whaling ship harpoons when she was sailing on the Rainbow Warrior, I said.

Our new friends stared at Pat, awestruck. Properly so.

Yeah. We’ve been doing this a long time. Seems like we should have gotten things fixed by now, but oh well. We carry on.