Many months ago, Neil put his name on a list of tennis players at the neighborhood public court hoping that some people who also have most mornings off would call him to play tennis.

A few weeks after his name and number were posted, I was at home one night when the phone rang. I answered to hear a very old-sounding voice on the other end asking for Neil. I proceeded to take a message. The man told me he was calling about tennis, and then he told me his name. "My name is Semen, S-E-Y-M-O-N" I almost cut him off and asked who was really calling. I was nearly convinced that one of our friends was just being funny. But nope, this man who wanted to play tennis with Neil was actually named Seymon, pronounced semen.

And so, Neil has been playing tennis with Seymon and some of Seymon's other old friends for at least six months...probably longer. About once a week we get a message from Seymon on the answering machine. Sometimes he says things like, "Neil, I'd like you to check your dance card and see if you can play tennis on Tuesday" Later he'll say to Neil, "I bet you've never heard of a dance card have you?"

Neil and I have taken to saying SeyMON when refering to Neil's tennis partner around the house... like we're the reggae-crazed kids I knew in high school who spoke in Jamaican accents. SeyMON is much less disturbing.

After months of wondering, Neil finally figured out that his weekly tennis partner is not just old, he's 85.

While I had talked to Seymon on the phone many many times, I had not met him until last night. Neil and I were invited to go to Seymon's house for a holiday cocktail party with some "tennis buddies" and their wives. So, at 7:30 we showed up and were the last guests to arrive. (the other two couples must have gotten their early?) Seymon bounced to the door and took our coats. He was wearing jeans and cowboy boots with a denim shirt under a leather western-style vest. He is a skinny and tall man with a nice white-whiskered face. He looks like he's 70 at the oldest. His wife, Jean, also looks fairly young, but she has recently lost her balance and now has great difficulty walking.

The other two couples were also at least in their 70s.

Neil and I sat in the living room surrounded by six people who could have been our grandparents and I was terrified. What will we talk about? Will they regret inviting little kids to their holiday party? But, we talked about food and cooking and snow and traveling and movies. Seymon, the gracious host, kept refilling our drinks and offering us food, and by the end of the evening, the people I met last night seemed less like old people and more like people. We had things in common to talk about and they were all very nice and treated us like we were peers and so it felt like we were. So now I am wondering if this means I am really an adult now. When the age difference begins to take on less importance and grandparent-types seem like people I could hang out with, have I completely left my childhood behind?

I am glad I finally met Seymon. He's a very cool person.