“Getting older is no problem. You just have to live long enough.”

                                         -Groucho Marx

Hollywood has served up a constant stream of superhero characters and movies over the last few decades. While I enjoyed the first Batman and Superman films, many of the recent offerings seemed to keep plot lines that guarantee sequels. The diversity of superheroes has naturally spread beyond Bruce Wayne/Batman, trust fund baby and Clark Kent/Superman, alien immigrant with perfect teeth who now can date Lois Lane and Jimmy Olson in a single bound. A more diverse lineup now includes Thor, a Nordic guy with an anger problem due to being force-fed lutefisk as a child, Wonder Woman, an exotic isolated island female likely to pummel you for saying she is attractive, and the mystical Doctor Strange (not Fauci). A superhero demographic that Hollywood hasn’t satisfactorily represented is one for the “seasoned citizens,” anyone over 65, including me. My over 65 superhero would be called, “50 Shades of Grey Owl.” His mask would be like a hockey goalie’s with an owl graphic and “Tommy” inscribed on the side. Why Tommy? “Tommy” was an album by the “Who” get it who and an owl? His costume would have an “expansion waist,” belt, suspenders and extra-long shirttail to prevent “superhero crack.” He is also ever vigilant nocturnally since he has to hit the bathroom 2-3 times a night anyway. His protective arsenal consists of a blood pressure cuff he swings like a bolo. He would have aerosolized forms of his drug prescriptions to spray on adversaries that would cause painful side effects and disablement. Especially effective would be his Viagra which would cause male criminals to “high center” themselves while running to escape and Fibercon, which would force criminals to immediately seek a restroom. The “Owl” would enlist his sidekick grandson, the “Red Rumped Parrot” adorned in a green mask with nose piercings, too small T-shirt, jean shorts cinched below his hips with bright red boxer shorts bringing up the rear, to drive their Oldsmobile 98 car when he’s not gaming or working at the local vape shop. When not fighting senior internet, telephone or door to door scammers, the “Owl” is a mild-mannered samba and pickleball instructor at a local Senior Center named Tab Fresca who depends on the “Parrot” to monitor the police scanner and social media to find their next hoodlum to bring to justice. During his downtime, our superhero can be found at the Senior Center playing cribbage or backgammon with his other superhero allies, including former proctologist Doctor Ben Dover who moonlights as “The Wild Impaler” and massage therapist Rolf Kneader who turns into “The Boa Constrictor.” Some possible movie titles starring the Grey Owl and friends could be: “Raiders of the Lost AARP,” Honey I Shrunk the Prostate,” and “Mission Impossible – Finding Missing Dentures on RTD.”

Back to reality. I believe every person that’s crossed into senior citizenry deserves superhero status for tolerating:

*Ads for drugs with side effects the Marquis de Sade couldn’t duplicate.

*Rude behavior from “Fast and Furious” wannabe punks while you’re obeying traffic laws.

*Lectures from “wet behind the ears noobs” blaming older generations for ruining their future. Guess they didn’t learn about the defeat of Nazis, Imperial Japan and the Soviet Union or the air and water pollution cleaned up in the 1960s.

*Entertainment industry portraying us oldsters as cranky, confused, slow, drooling nincompoops. (I’ll accept drooling, but I’m not slow).

So, give a senior citizen an air-hug or fist bump today. They might not have anyone else in their life that makes them feel appreciated. Be careful of any drool!

Kris Harris moved here in 1960 and is a product of Longmont Public Schools and the University of Northern Colorado. He believes sarcasm deserves to be taken seriously.