“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” — Mark Twain

“In youth we learn, in age we understand.” — Ebner-Eschenbach

Age is a topic I visit often here, mostly because of its surreptitious approach.

My uncle passed away recently, and I traveled to Youngsville with several family members for the funeral. Uncle Danny was a kind and well-loved man, and there was standing-room only at his funeral.

I was seated along the back wall with several relatives, and others standing in front of me. Directly in front of me was my cousin Albert. We are close in age, and spent time playing as children at our grandparents’ home in Westline.

Albie, as we’ve called him for years, had his hands clasped behind his back. As I listened to the hymns and prayers, and memories of Uncle Danny, I stared at Albie’s hands.

They are working hands, scarred, with blunt nails and rough from years of hard work. Next to him was my second cousin, Dan, younger than we are, but far from a child. His hands, also clasped behind him, showed a similar story.

How could these men, my contemporaries, show years of work when we are but children ourselves?

The family matriarchs, my mother Shirley and my Aunt Thursie, the last two of the Stroup family of 12, sat in the front row to say goodbye to their brother. In my mind’s eye, they are ageless, these strong and courageous women.

I can hear them clearly, correcting us as we played in the yard, or in the creek. I can hear their laughter as they sat together on the porch, talking while the children were occupied. It doesn’t feel like nearly 40 years ago.

Standing outside for the military honors for Uncle Danny — he was proud veteran of the Korean War — I looked around the crowd at my cousins, all grown with families of their own, many with grandchildren of their own as well.

And I started to notice the gray in their hair, the dressy clothes instead of hole-filled hand-me-downs of our youth. The age and wisdom of the years lining their faces.

I looked back at my mother and my aunt, both surrounded by family members, helping them find a comfortable position for the ceremony.

These women command respect. My mind wandered — as it often does — touching on a variety of topics: the feel of grass on bare feet, the buffet-style meals spread out in the garage followed by eating outside on the lawn in Westline. And the respect that is easily and readily given to the elders in my family.

Aunt Thursie is not one to take no for an answer. I don’t remember her ever disciplining any of us, but no one argues when she decrees how things shall be. My mother isn’t one to command, but it is very clear when someone doesn’t meet her expectations.

They brook no argument. And it is simply understood.

It hit me then, as it has several times before; this, this is being an adult.

This holding our elders in high esteem for the lives they have helped us create. This passing of the baton, as it were, from one generation to the next.

I saw a notice pinned to our newsroom bulletin board of the opening ceremony of the “As I Age” wall next month, at 11 a.m. May 16, at the University of Pittsburgh at Bradford.

May is Older American’s Month. If I could offer today’s youth some advice, it would be to listen to the stories of older family members. Some day, you will wish you had taken that time.

Some day — when you are sitting at the funeral of a family member listening to stories about his military escapades, and looking at a board filled with photos of his life — you will thank your lucky stars for all the time you took, especially when you thought you couldn’t.

(Marcie Schellhammer is the Era’s assistant managing editor. She can be reached at marcie@bradfordera.com)