When I was a tadpole, the whole family went to National Airport at least once just to watch the planes take off. It was pretty exciting, with the gigantic windows and massive airplanes and gut-rumbling roar, and also we didn’t watch TV. We also stood and looked up from our back yard when the commercial planes lumbered over. It was nothing but prop-planes until I was at least six. Nobody could imagine what was keeping those things in the air. (The answer is the pilots are trained never to look down. If they looked down, that thing would go straight to the ground like a cartoon coyote off a cliff.)

This was all pretty exciting for my parents too. Mom remembered pilots barnstorming in their biplanes in North Dakota. Dad remembered playing mumblety-peg with the Wright brothers. His great-grandfather revolutionized the wheel by knocking off the corners but, true to family tradition, failed to secure the patent.

We old, is my point.

I remember the first few times I flew in a jet by myself as being a transcendent experience. You’d have to pack pillows around yourself to keep from rolling around in the seat; your seat-mates were too far away to converse with; even if you were not quite eighteen and sort of small, a nice lady in a pencil skirt and pillbox hat would hand you an entire complimentary bottle of Mateus wine to go with your steak and potatoes. The entire world rolled by out the window like your own bright future.

It was not a future in which I envisioned, in any way, being excited at the prospect of being able to keep my shoes on during TSA screening. And yet, according to my sister, who did just that on a flight the very next day after her 75th birthday, that’s one of the perks of turning 75 now.

It’s not that the TSA screeners care if the line moves along any faster. They don’t have a plane to catch. The Transportation Security Administration refers to this as “expedited screening through risk-based intelligence-driven security that allows TSA to better focus resources on passengers who more likely pose a risk.” In other words, grandma, you don’t look like you could bend over far enough to set off your shoe bomb. You’d let out a loose warning fart halfway down and even the worst of your cohort is more likely to go the poisoned-cookie route than anything flashier. The TSA crew is skeeved out by your black orthopedic shoes with your swollen ankles puddling over them and your nylons rolled all the way down, and the subject has already come up in union contract negotiations. It was an easy call.

More perks. If you alarm during security screening, you may be required to undergo a pat-down, but you can request to be seated during this portion of the screening, which eliminates the cavity search. It all adds up: there aren’t that many perks to turning 75. I Googled it. Number one on the list is “fewer garden-variety ailments.”

That means you’ve already had all the colds. Now you’re all lined up for the big-ticket ailments. You’re going down. At least TSA isn’t going down on you.

It’s not the world we imagined back in the fifties. The world has changed. We should have gotten the hint when the good old National Airport was renamed for the dude who broke the air traffic controller union. Irony is not dead, but our time’s coming.