Well, it’s finally here and gone--The magic age of 76—and I’m staring 77 in the face, in just 5 months! I never thought I’d see the day when I would be “one of them”.
When I look back over the years, I can understand why some wise person once said, “Every 7 years, you change completely.” If that’s true, I must be very handsome, because from where I started, I certainly couldn’t have gotten any uglier. —And if they’re talking psychologically, well, it’s true I don’t remember things as well as I once did.
It’s true that everything changes, also.
I can remember, as a boy, I was always somewhat in awe of older people. They seemed to be so infi-nitely wise and much more highly educated than I. They knew everything. After all, some had finished high school!
When I finally finished high school, I wondered what had happened to my share of wisdom, because somehow the teachers hadn’t given me a whit of the stuff! Instead, I learned that it’s ex-perience that provides sagacity and I had none to speak of. So, unable to find work, I joined the military for my first taste of ‘experience’. Boy! Did I ever get ex-perience!
I suppose that’s one reason why older persons are re-ferred to as ‘sages’, because they’ve survived their experiences. Survivors are not really the examples for us. Those who don’t survive are the best examples.
Now that I have attained ‘my age’, I am actually amazed at how much I can re-member and just how wise I seem to be. For example:
How to stop a faucet from leaking, at least for a few minutes.
How to use a computer—more or less.
How to be kind—occasionally.
How to open a jar with a hammer.
How to tie my shoes, by asking my wife to do it.
How to ignore bald jokes by remarking on the jokester’s lineage.
How to keep my balance while putting on my pants, or, what walls are for!
How to find my way around town, by being persistent with your map and compass.
And now that I’ve slowed down:
How the air smells after it rains, when it’s full of exhaust fumes.
How the trees and river look, winter and summer—-brown.
How stupidly optimistic my grandchildren are.
How much you can enjoy hitting a little white ball into the rough.
--And yet, too many times, I can’t remember what it was I was just talking about, or remember where I put the Wet Wipes!
Old age sneaks up on you. The first inkling I had was when people in their 20’s began to patronize me. Youthful strangers started calling me ‘Sir’—, at least clerks did, and my own sons began to be a little more concerned about my well being. Other young strangers just yelled at me, or tried to run over me.
It was really annoying. Every time I tried to make a serious statement to younger people, I got answers back like, “Sure, sure pop!” It made me angry, but there was no way I could argue! I wanted to grab something and shake the daylights out of it, but there was nothing you could really come to grips with. I mean, if they’re not listening, how can you make your point? --And I couldn’t really shake the life out of them, because it could have been injurious to my physical being.
So I had to stop making serious statements to younger people. I started just sitting back and watching them fall into pits of their own making, -- pits I had climbed out of, long ago.
The world is full of sayings, like, “patience is a virtue”, and somebody is always making references to “wise old men”. One of the most intelligent old men, Albert Einstein, once said, “Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.”
I don't think he was old enough at the time, or he'd have known which was really true!
My physical condition, of course, has deteriorated, which bothers younger people no end. They contend that all I need is exercise. Just pump iron! It tires me just thinking about it.
My wrist is smaller; I had to take up my watchband to make it fit. My biceps are smaller and wrinkling, because I don’t do heavy lifting anymore. I don’t care what any of the ‘fitness freaks’ say, a muscle as old as mine, is never going to perform as well as it did when it was 20! I don't care how much you work it!
I can’t run the 440-yard dash, either. The best I can do is the 5-yard dash to the dinner table. Oh, sure! I can walk one-and-a-half miles around the tract when I put my mind to it, which varies from about twice, to three times a week, but my left heel has a calcium buildup in it and it hurts, and my right hip aches for an hour afterwards, and my legs-, well, let’s just say they’re glad when I get home!
But I enjoy the walk, usually. I can see, despite the floaters in my eyes, the blurry, green gracious trees and manicured lawns and some geese that make the sidewalk a very slippery place and, despite my high frequency loss of hearing, I can hear the sound of the jet engines; wind in the trees and birds overhead.
I hate complaining about my infirmities, because we’re constantly reminded that there are homeless people, AIDS victims, paralyzed vets and ‘Special’ people, who are always worse off.
Still, my aches are my own.
Of course my stomach, despite the ulcer, is healthy. Look at its size!
And I just can’t get used to the way younger people treat older people, now. The worst of them are abnormally cruel; robbing and beating them, while the everyday garden variety of younger person simply ignores them.
Advertising continues to reinforce the idea that old age is something to be avoided at all cost; that old age means your not ‘cool’; that you’re somehow less than human, if you’re old. If you’ll just drink/wash/use/buy this stuff, you’ll stay young forever!
I don’t remember thinking like that, so I know the world has changed a lot since I was younger.
I never could afford to do some of the things the younger people do today, like listen to the cacophonous, screaming noise now called music, buy new cars, or fancy bicycles, complete with special riding clothes that make you look like an animated neon sign. I can understand women wearing tight pants, but if you want to show off your butt crack, why bother dressing at all? --And, I won’t even mention the front crack that shows. At the same time, I wonder how men stand such tight clothes? No wonder we hear stories about “low sperm counts”!
Everything about the young seems too loud, nowadays, doesn’t it--and I’m partially deaf—and maybe that’s why!
They tell us “the young are our future!” Wrong! The young are going to be old, someday—that’s the future!
I can’t stand the smoky lounges anymore, even without the smoke! The noisy music, the smells and the perfumes combine to upset my stomach, and I wonder how the younger people can stand it and why is it necessary, before I remember that, when I was younger, I used to want to show off, too, but I believe I did it in a quieter way, of course.
I guess I’m luckier than a lot of people. I retired early, with everything I need--a modest income, a good wife, relatively good health and good spirits.
Well, you, being young, might ask, “Now that you’re old, what do you have to look forward too?”
Quite simple! Among my other hobbies, I’m going to continue to frustrate the younger set by living to age 95, at least.
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