Old Enough
By Charles Kraus
Lately, life has gone from — where did I park the car, to did I drive here in my car? I suppose, if I hang around long enough, the kids will ask me to hand over the car keys, and the questions will be moot.
I’ve been through a number of what you might call stages of the human condition — kids stuff, teen stuff, young adult, military, including a war, college, grad school, marriage, parenting, responsible son for aging parents, grand parenting. There is more ahead, but you understand the progression.
Where young folks see two categories of senior -- old and decrepit, we of certain advanced generations, refine the far end of elderliness, transforming it into an expanded portfolio:
TRANSITIONAL - Am I actually getting old?
People begin opening doors for you and you resent it.
ADVANCED TRANSITIONAL
After a while, the resentment goes away.
CONFLICT
Next, particular people begin opening those doors. First, young women. Then frail older women. Then folks who appear to be in need of your assistance manipulate their crutches and maneuver their wheelchairs so they can block the elevator door from closing, just in case you can’t make it through the entrance in a timely fashion. You nod a thank you, but are upset by the implications. Do you look like you need of this amount of help?
STRATEGIZING
For a while, I portrayed a range of ages. Young and spry to show my children they needn’t worry about poor old dad. In the alternative, if I thought doing so might get me a quicker result while cavorting in the public arena, I’d give my impression of an “older” gent, engaging the world with a smidgen of unsteadiness and a touch of uncertainty This technique can actually get you front of the line privileges, and is particularly helpful when waiting for a turn in the men’s room.
Some people are deferential to seniors. A subset are deferential but with a hint of insensitivity tainting their presentations. “How you doing young man?,” the twenty-something drug store clerk says to me every time I stop by to purchase hearing aid batteries. I try not to let him bother me — as long as I get my senior discount.
I’ve been know to act a bit feeble if a well meaning stranger treats me as if I’m just south of senile. To avoid embarrassing the helpful person who has misjudged my needs. Suddenly looking alert, vigorous and facial — would be impolite — “Ha! You thought I was some old fool. Well, watch this, you nincompoop!”
At first, I was surprised and offended to find the world ready, even anxious, to assistant me. Later, I accepted the help as a form of entitlement. Then, of necessity. My mind went from, ‘can’t you see I don’t need your pity,” to “thank you, that’s appreciated,” and then on to, “can’t you see I need you to open the damn door!”
