One memorable evening about a century ago (or so it seems), back when I was a callow 20-year-old kid struggling to come to terms with my first real broken heart, a young lady of my acquaintance asked me how old I felt, deep down inside. My answer — “about a hundred and two” — was intended to be flippant, the sort of thing Bruce Willis might growl at the end of a brutal action flick that left him covered in filth and blood. But the statement was honest, too. I really did <\/i>feel ancient that night, hollowed out and spent by experiences I was turning out to be ill-equipped to deal with. My friend nodded in agreement, took a drag on her cigarette — no doubt her conscious attempt to add some drama to the scene, as much as the simple action of smoking — and said my half-assed joke made sense because she’d always perceived me as having an old soul.<\/p>\n
Now, I don’t know if I believe in the concept of “old souls” — that implies reincarnation or pre-existence or some other philosophical notion that would make my head hurt if I gave it much thought — but there’s no question I always identified more with the adults in the room than with the other kids at the folding card table in the corner. Also, I recall that from an early age, I had an unusual knack for empathizing with the feelings of my elders. Consider, for example, my youthful affection for the song featured in tonight’s edition of Friday Evening Videos:<\/p>\n