We all age and mature at different speeds. My having turned seventy-seven this week has been one in a long series of experiences involving both mind and body. Aging happens so gradually that we don’t usually notice the increased effort required to blow out the candles as the years pass, and, after age fifty, our lungs get a bit crankier and whisper, “Hey, what was THAT all about?” in that progressive climb toward our golden years. I do remember that thirty was a milestone, and after blowing out the candles on that birthday, hearing one of my older friends saying, “It’s all uphill from here on, pal.”
America is a country where the terrors, large and small, of aging seem to be in at least a third of television commercials and magazine ads, so that life can become a competition to delay decrepitude for as along as we can, while we view ourselves in mirrors, sometimes dimming the lights a bit to hide any signs of infirmity in those extra wrinkles and sagging cheeks (the ones on our faces and the other ones farther down).
I do resent the widespread presumption that, because we have silver or white hair, we are automatically compromised mentally and physically in the eyes of too many around us. As someone who taught high school classes for thirty-five years, I can say with some confidence that if you want to work with or criticize someone who is physically and intellectually compromised, then help teenagers everywhere. They need all the aid we can provide in eschewing, among other things, those sharp steel facial inserts that can be quite dangerous during electrical storms.
“Middle age is when you’re faced with two temptations, and you choose the one that will get you home at 9 o’clock.” Ronald Reagan
In any case, aging is relative and can affect people in many different ways. The one advantage I already relish about aging is that, as a rule, “younger” people (those forty to sixty) will generally open doors for me to go in or out, based, I believe, upon my having silver hair. If I have my cane with me, I own any space that doesn’t already have someone in a wheelchair. JB
“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.” Marjorie Barstow