The Graying Epidemic

When I was younger, much younger, I used to daydream about what my life would be like once I reached 50. I imagined I would have a successful career, own a big, white house with a picket fence, be "settled down" and perhaps have started a family, boast a wide circle of friends, and of course I would, above all, be immensely happy and satisfied.

I was almost certain that my hair would prematurely turn shock white -- as did my father's -- before the ripe age of 30, and that, as I aged, I would not necessarily appear "old," but, rather, I would be "distinguished-looking," as men my age are often described. And as a child, in my mind's eye, my adult self exuded an air of supreme confidence, and people flocked to me for advice, or at the very least, when they needed a shoulder to cry on.