The Problem with Old People

The problem with old people is….me! It’s really as simple as that. It’s taken me a long time to figure that one out. As I was growing up, without the benefit of a nuclear family or loving grandparents, old people to me were always furrowed eyebrows, ‘don’t touch that’ comments and ‘you wouldn’t understand’ statements. The absence of a concerned teacher, aunt, uncle or relative didn’t help dissuade me from that conclusion.

The ‘older generation made it very clear to us that ‘children should be seen and not heard.’ The good nuns in grade school and Christian Brothers in high school didn’t do much to dispel that notion of youthful inadequacies. It wasn’t until my ‘Lost Years’ (ten years between high school and marriage) that I was able to finally break free of that older generation’s antiquated, moldy take on life.

Reflecting back, I can see now that those closeted champions of the church, my teachers in school, the boss at work, and even my relatives had pigeon-holed me as naturally as they always had anyone my age. Without the support of adults who cared about me, I was exposed to that generational slant on the younger set. As I got older and surer of myself, their snarling comments gradually wore thin and were ignored.

So, when that old warehouse manager on my Saturday morning side hustle would always greet us college men with: ‘God-damn College kids,’ it just brought a warm glow to my heart and a smile on my face. He hated his life and what our youthful exuberance said to him. His loss, not mine.

I’ve often spoken disparagingly about the ‘old men in the coffee shop.’ These are the retirees, the unemployed and the bored who spend their days rehashing their make-believe youth and bitching about everything around them. Farmers are the absolute worst at this sour take on the world. While we’ve always had ‘salons’ for the intellectual elite, these coffee shop clichés are usually for gossip and complaining alone. From my travels in Europe, I know it’s not just an American thing.

Perhaps my distain for the attitudes of old people is hereditary. My mother used to complain about old folks when she was in her seventies and eighties. Sharon and I never quite got it; thinking instead that once you’ve reached that station in life, you’re supposed to defend your own kind instead of criticizing them. I was wrong. Now I get it.

My mother and my step-father were still dancing and playing cards in their mid-to-late eighties. While other seniors around them were slowing down, they were accelerating their pace of living. Nothing wrong with that. Her distain for others her own age was by no means admirable but it was (in her simple, crude way) understandable.

Reflecting back now on some of my conversations with her, I’m guessing that she simply couldn’t express her feelings that well. She saw no benefit to bitching about one’s aches and pains, or diminishing driving skills or slowness in their gait. She and Erwin (my step-father) were still active and so should other folks their age. I might have been a bit more diplomatic but her point was understood.

I’m at the stage now in life where the passing of my high school classmates is accelerating. But that crucible of old age doesn’t have to pervert our reality with a lot of negativities. I won’t apologize for my mother’s insensitive approach to criticizing her age group nor will I emulate it. Other folks are going to do what they’re going to do. If slowing down and grousing about life is a part of their lives that doesn’t mean it has to be a part of mine.

There’s still much to celebrate with life. Bitching and complaining only gets in the way of that appreciation.