When something is far away, the distance obscures its differentiating details, blurs meaningful variation into flat, oversimplified uniformity. Old age is like that. Until you reach it yourself, it's an abstraction.
When I was very little, I was almost afraid of the
elderly. When a great-aunt would move to embrace me at a holiday reunion,
I could feel my entire body stiffen like I was about to kiss Death itself. This
is because our society vehemently promotes youth over age. We've been
encouraged to regard aging as a disease and to put off acknowledging it for as
long as possible, lest we peer into our own liver-spotted future.
In ever-up-to-date Silicon Valley, thirty is
considered old. Thirty. So they're getting plastic surgery to look
younger and feel more competitive. At thirty. I suppose next
they'll reattach their umbilical cords and submerge themselves in dark tanks of
canned peach syrup.
Growing old is inescapable. Our cells will continue to
divide no matter how many antioxidants we consume, regardless of how much
Lubriderm we slather on. Moreover, we pay a cultural price when we
devalue our eldest citizens and push them to the periphery to gather dust and
stereotypes. In terms the hipster crowd can appreciate, what’s left once
you pour all the vintage wine down the drain?
I’m fortunate now to have close relatives and friends
who are much older than I. They remind me of the rich insight a seasoned
veteran can offer. If nothing else, an older person has proceeded further
through the maze and knows where more of its dead ends are. They‘re
mentors who help me appreciate each new ring that time adds to my trunk. I had
fewer white beard hairs years ago, fewer random ear hairs certainly, but would
I really want to return to the assertive ignorance of my twenties? Of my
thirties? (I'll be saying the same about my forties when I'm fifty.)
True, lots of old folks become incapacitated, lonely,
confused... deceased. But so do many of the young. Grow up, already.
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