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My Turn
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From The Asian Reporter, V35, #7 (July 7, 2025), page 6.
From movie star to senior citizen discounts in one fell swoop
I was sitting alone at a table in a restaurant waiting for my wife, Maya, who was meeting me for lunch when an attractive young woman walked over. She was part of the waitstaff and approached me with a pensive smile on her face.
Her hand was gently pressed against her chest as she spoke — "You look so much like someone I know." Her eyes opened wide, as if she was a bit emotional.
"Here we go again," I thought. Not that I was the least bit annoyed by the young woman. In fact, it’s usually a pleasant surprise.
For some reason throughout my life, I have been mistaken for many other people. At airport security, one person said I reminded her of a martial arts star. I’ve never been in a movie. I don’t know martial arts. But, being reminded of an athletic, handsome movie star? Sounds good to me!
Then there have been the five or six times that women have said I look like an ex-boyfriend. By definition, that means I look like someone who this person was once attracted to. I mean, if you think about it, it’s a pretty great compliment.
So, when things like that happened in the past, it boosted my mood a bit each time. I’ve almost become a little nonchalant about it.
Getting back to this recent episode, the young person looked at me and said, "You look so much like someone I know. You look exactly like my father."
"Umm … excuse me?"
She goes on: "My dad, he lives in Taiwan, and he isn’t in the best of health, and when I saw you, it made me realize how much I miss him."
"Wait. What?!?" I thought.
I didn’t actually say anything, but I was certainly thinking something.
Apparently, what she told me is that when she saw me, it reminded her how much she missed her father, and that he’s been ill. In her eyes, THAT IS WHAT I LOOK LIKE.
When people see me these days, it now appears that I look like an elderly, bedridden man whose best days are behind him!
What’s worse is that after Maya sat down and I went to the restroom, this impudent young woman had the temerity to share the same observation to my wife — that I look like her father, who, by my estimation, is on death’s doorstep and is one breath away from meeting his maker.
After the young lady greeted us again, and she reminded me one last time of my apparent likeness to her one-leg-in-the-grave father, all I could muster was a quiet response of "Oh, that’s nice."
I realize that none of this is her fault, and if I remind her of her father, I suppose that’s just the way it goes.
But is that it? This is now what I am relegated to? I no longer look like a movie star or old boyfriends; I look like a half-comatose senior who might need help walking across the street? When did this change take place? Don’t I have a say in the matter?
Should I prepare for the moment that I remind someone of their long-lost grandfather? Will people stop me on the street and ask for directions to the nearest AARP office? When I visit a diner, will I automatically get the senior discount menu? When will I automatically start every sentence with, "Back in my day …"
I have to go now. I see some kids outside on my lawn loitering about and I simply won’t have it.
Humor writer Wayne Chan lives in the San Diego area;
cartoonist Wayne Chan is based in the Bay Area.
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