Aging Disgracefully
Contrary to what I seem to be constantly told, I’m not old.
The universe is old but not me.
The Grand Canyon is old, but not me.
Keith Richards is old, but not me.
Kane Tanaka is old, but not me. She turned 117 on Jan. 2.
By these standards, I am young, but still people consider me to be among the disposable citizens or the expendable citizens. When did I cross, or was pushed across that threshold into worthlessness?
I don’t know who decides on the arbitrary ages to define old. If you’re 55, you can get into age-restricted housing; if you’re 62, you can get Social Security; if you’re 65 or older, you can retire. If you’re 80 everybody ignores you or treats you like you suddenly, overnight became a doddering old fool who is little more than a huge drag on society.
Who says I’m old? The Realtors, the government and the bosses. The young people.
I know people who are dinosaurs at 30 and as close-minded as a clam and others who are just being born and learning more each day at 70. Youth is defined by interest, vitality, curiosity and love. Not by years.
Sometimes I forget things but I believe it’s because as I get older I have so many things in my head and it’s harder to track them down. And I don’t look like I can be blown over by a strong wind.
I don’t wear old people’s clothing. My fly is not three feet long, I don’t wear black socks and sandals and I shave and bathe regularly. OK, my stream is not as strong as it once was. But anyone who scores me by the amount I can pee is full of shit.
The names they have for older people are so thoughtful, words like codger, old fart, crackpot, crank, eccentric and old bat.
Have you seen people talk very loud to someone who doesn’t understand English? That’s how they treat old people; talk really slowly and in small words so the oldster with no marbles left will understand.
People think older people don’t have feelings, let alone memories. They’re treated more like broken-down easy chairs or moth-eaten sweaters. Motorists honk their horns at the older people for driving too slowly. They would think twice about honking if the slow-going motorist in front was a six-foot-five, 250 pounder.
And where do they put you when it’s time for the pasture? They put you in a nursing home. The operative word is “home.” Home to me is a place of love, privacy, warmth. Nursing homes are usually devoid of emotion, the people who live there get little or no privacy except when they are asleep and the poorly-paid staff let the old people know they are expected to not be seen and not be heard. And they feed them food that a hungry dog would turn down.
But there is so much stimulation in nursing homes. There is checkers and TV and checkers and TV and checkers and TV and bedtime and bedpans. And don’t think it isn’t a self-fulfilling prophecy. Tell a person enough times that he’s useless and he will feel useless.
So younger people who know nothing about life put down their elders who have a lifetime of knowledge and wisdom. Something is wrong when the older generation isn’t even welcomed into their children’s homes because they are inconvenient.
Families don’t put up with inconvenience but in return, they pay a very high price in denying a place for people who have a priceless vantage point and a wealth of experience.
That would be families in the U.S. In other cultures, the elderly are placed in high esteem as treasures to be protected and honored. Here the elderly are more like human flotsam waiting to be jettisoned.
What a treasure to hear a first person account of the Battle of the Bulge or one about a first Major League hit or the time your grandfather fell in love with your grandmother while waiting for a subway to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Get rid of us older ones and you will never hear these stories and you will be the poorer for it.
It is so depressing when a pretty woman calls me mister or sir. If you don’t know my name, just call me Brando lookalike. I will not amble slowly into the sunset and I will punch the lights out of the first person to try to help me across the street.