I went to a picnic last week. It’s pretty much the same picnic with the same people going on now for about 40 years. We look at each other incredulously and say:
Man, we’re getting old.
Well, yes, we were “getting old.” But the “getting” part is over. There’s no more “getting” there. We’ve arrived. We’re old.
And, as it turns out, there ain’t a whole lot of people older than us anymore. We’ve met the geezers and they are us!
Once there was a whole lot of old people—hordes of ’em—standing as buffers between us and the grave. In part, that’s because 50-year-olds looked old. Back then I would see a 50-year-old person spike a volleyball and shudder.
YIKES. That old man is going to keel over for sure!
It’s that 20-year differential rule. At 15, 35 looks old. At 35, 55 looks old. At 55, 75 looks old. At 75, 95 looks old. At 95, God looks old.
I’m old. I can’t change that. I accept it. Along with all its benefits.
Memories. Realism. Humility.
Fifty years ago I knew a lot but understood little. I was smart. But knowledge and understanding are two different things. Understanding comes with experience and age.
(Usually.)
I like being old.
I like sharing mutual memories with old friends.
I like repeating a story that no one recalls hearing before.
I like learning new things.
I like my grandchildren telling me things I never knew.
I like learning about body organs I know next to nothing about.
I like talking with old friends about our children who are now “older than us.”
I like traveling alongside old friends going through hard times.
One old friend at the picnic said he couldn’t drive at night anymore and asked for a lift home. He quickly got an offer from a friend.
I’ll take you as long as you show me the way, old buddy. My memory is shot.
And off they went.
I don’t like everything about being old.
I don’t like forgetting names or losing a step.
I don’t like bladder panic.
I don’t like missing those who were once part of this picnic—irreplaceable figures in a beautiful tapestry.
I don’t like feeling that this could be the last picnic for one or more of us.
Life is short.
You know that when you’re young.
You understand it when you’re old.
I went to a Memorial Day picnic too this past weekend and thought the same thing except I was at the 46 year old stage looking at all my 70+ relatives. It’s bittersweet. But then my 25 year old son showed up to remind us all the cycle keeps moving and we’re lucky to be here for another year. Pass the potato salad.
Loved the story, Randy.
We should feel blessed to get old. One time, about a yr before I retired as a reading specialist, a colleague & friend came in my room in the morning & I was complaining about getting old. She went over, shut my door, & shared w/me about her having breast cancer in her twenties & ended up having a mastectomy. She thought her life was over. Then she met her soon to be husband, they’ve been happily married & have 2 lovely daughters. She said, “ Marianne, we should feel blessed to get old. She’s in her 50s now & we keep in touch. That was the most touching thing said to me to feel blessed to get old. Also, when my hubby, Bob & I do goofy things, forgetting something or passing gas as walking by each other, we just laugh about it. Yes, so blessed to get old & to see friends our age in beautiful weather in a garden, listening to beautiful music. 🎶🌈💖🤗
You’ve said it all, my friend. Yes I!… as they say in Jamaica. A saying “with mirth & laughter let old wrinkles come” hangs in my kitchen. “The circle game” plays in my mind. “ We’ve met the geezers & they are us”…Thank you Randy
I just discovered another reason why it’s good to get shorter but now I can’t remember what it was.
Thanks, Randy and everyone, for the reminders that there’s still a lot to be thankful for–including a sense of humor.
This is so thoroughly & utterly spot on, Randy. “Yes I”, as they say in Jamaica. I’ve had a plaque in my kitchen for many years: “ With mirth & laughter let old wrinkles come!”. Joni Mitchell’s “The Circle Game” comes to mind. “Bladder panic”… indeed! The body parts start to crumple, but as a 95 year old working artist told me the other day, after I’d asked a lot of questions about the good old days in Shepherdstown “I don’t usually talk about the past… I look at the future, & mostly live in the moment”. Thank you so much for your eloquence on a tender & beautiful subject!
Now I want to know the artist and ask them questions too!
I met the geezer
And he is me.
About to turn 40 and I feel this. Wisdom and understanding come with aches and pains.
Like the reference to
Pogo.
It is interesting, I have found myself hoping that I will be able to be around to continue to combat the current insanity that is ensconced in DC. To help swing that pendulum back.
I do so hope that too, for all of us, this nation, and the world!
We live in a society that values or highlights youth and also frequently denies the reality of death. Personally speaking, I am grateful for each day and celebrate the gift of life—all the lessons I’ve learned and still need to learn. I often say, “Age is a matter of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!”
Old age happens should one live long enough. I went to a former colleague’s art show in Berkeley Springs last evening. We’ve stayed in touch for a lot of years. In the mix I encountered a couple of former students. They almost always have to tell me their names, though now grown up faces are familiar to me. But there were a lot of them and only one of me. Apparently for some I was unforgettable. (I’m happy to report, in a good way.) The one I talked to the most is now a health coach and into helping people. I could see that caring and compassion so many years ago now. Another is an artist. He was always doodling in class. I finally gave him a section of white board, armed him with colored markers and turned him loose. I now have to unearth those pictures I took of his creations. Last night, he made a post card sketch for me on the spot. He’s a cartoonist soon to release a book. I could see that one coming too. So long ago. That’s the real reward for a teacher. At some point long ago–and not all that long ago either–I made a difference. It’s nice to have that one bounce back to me from time to time. I guess I need to get out more. It’s good to be old and still be able to remember.
Belated affirmation and positive views of what our students have learned and do are precious.
This is so true. I wrote my thesis in grad school on total being and the combination of self awareness, knowledge, and finally understanding. Took me about 20 minutes to try and remember the word!
Self-actualization. Thats all I remember but thanks for putting my brain to work this am.
“Life is short, but it is wide.” I think a Louisiana saying.
When I was in my 40s and 50s I thought how sad it will be when I only have (whatever amount) of years left. But now I, too, love being old. So many pleasures, so much to do in every day.
The year I was 12, my 7-year-old brother died unexpectedly the day after Mother’s Day. After that, I never expected there was any age to live to. I had a 79-year-old aunt, a widow, who met a teenage sweetheart, a widower, whom she hadn’t seen in over 40 years, but they recognized each other! They eloped at the end of the summer, no more wasting of time they could spend together. She had 11 years with this second husband. At her 100th birthday party, she danced with a 78-year-old whom she had babysat for. She lived to 104. I think the two gateposts of an early unexpected death of a sibling and the long-term surprise of someone active and healthy in her brain until 104 made aging seem like a time-warp for me. I feel aging physically, but I don’t think about it. Recently, my husband chose a parking place close to a building where we would go to a meeting. I said, “Don’t take a spot for the old people.” He looked at me and said, “We are the old people.” Perspectives affect our outlooks and actions, and I continue to go in and out of the time warp.
old? come to Florida. We moved from Palm Coast to Gainesville in part because we never saw babies, kids, young parents in PC. Coastal beaches and salt water don’t compare with children.
I’m almost 85 and Helen’s 96.
Arriving here has been a blast.
I repeatedly say,
“We have so little to complain about and so much to be thankful for. “
Life is good.
I found “The Devil’s Gift” particularly helpful and enlightening today! Approaching age 98 I formerly hoped I wouldn’t live to see the likes of D.T. elected but now I hope to live long enough to be able to refer to ex- president D.T. (Still leaves timing indefinite but still leaves the enjoyment of each day more meaningful!)
I like the idea of being a buffer between the young and the grave. It argues that we’re still of use, against those who say we’ve outlived our usefulness. If it helps someone to feel better that they’re not as old as me, then I have done a service. Now in the America of today, I need to find a way to monetize that service.
Reverend Randy, you always seem to write the right thing. The not being able to drive at night thing is especially hard, but friends have filled right in. God bless you and your gift for writing.
Goosebumps!