Ask a 4-year-old how old she is, and she’ll raise four fingers and burst out, “Four!”
Ask an octogenarian the same question —
Well, you wouldn’t ask that question, would you? That would be rude. Which is why your neighborhood octogenarian is reduced to volunteering the information on her own from time to time.
She’s old, you see. And she wants you to know it.
She’s survived childhood, childbirth, at least one husband, and 40 years on the job market.
And now she’s come out at the other end — creaky-kneed and foggy-brained — but for all practical purposes, intact.
What’s more, if she’s lucky, she’s overcome the shame of aging. Her newly sprouted white hair and unreliable knees have forced her out of the closet. There’s no getting around it, she’s old and getting older.
No use trying to pass for middle-aged any more, let alone youngish. Why not cash in her longevity chips, she reasons, and take advantage of whatever pleasures old age bestows upon the American woman these days.
One of those pleasures, I’ve noticed, is the license to brag a bit — like the 4-year-old — about how old she is. About how she’s made it this far through sheer grit and stick-to-it-iveness. She’s still alive, and there’s no stopping her.
Old and Getting Older at the Gym
I still wear a mask at the gym, and I still go to the trouble of putting my yoga mat down next to an open door. (As of this writing, covid-19 still lurks, and most of the folks at the gym are too young and too blithe to feel the need of a mask.)
And so, the other day as I maneuvered my mat a little away from the woman next to me, I felt her studying me.
“Do you feel sick?” she said.
“No. I feel great!” I said, good and loud. “I’m just old.”
Laughter arose from yoga mats all over the room.
I didn’t mean to be funny. I meant to be reassuring. But in belting out the words, “I’m old,” I seemed to have cheered up all the not-yet-old people in the room.
In 21st-century America, old age doesn’t get you much in the way of status. But it does get you the proverbial wisdom of age. Which in this case was: Don’t worry. Some of us are getting a kick out of getting old.
Get it while it lasts.
More about old people at “A Manners Challenged Kid Who Became the Apple of His Grandma’s Eye.” Also, “Shopping for a Mother-of-the-Groom Dress.”
still laughing over this one!
My favorite thing about this story is the photo of Christina turning 4. To illustrate this piece, I did a search of the hundreds of old photos I recently had scanned from the negatives. I went to the date of Christina’s fourth birthday, and to my amazement I found this goofy shot. It’s soooo Christina, then and now. And I had forgotten it existed. Spending all that money to have all those negatives scanned paid off.
I really loved this post. I’m facing 40 soon and while I think it’s young, my young friends think it’s old. Ha! Thanks for the encouragement. I hope I’m pole dancing into my 80s as well.
My 70s were my favorite decade. So you have something to look forward to, actually.
I remember the bus ride. And if memory serves, you ended up with some cash from the other bus patrons. eb
Oh, my gosh! Cash? Did I actually accept money for my performance? For some reason, I can’t recall some of the details of that night.
I think we need to hear about that. Perhaps the next TR?
😍
Loved this octogenarian riff, Barbara! Since I turned *80* last July (with a surprise family party in Portugal), I’ve begun mentioning it more🙂. — Will ( a travel companion with you and Jon in China ten years ago!)
What? It’s been ten years since that trip to China, when we were mere septuagenarians?
Great blog, LOVE the pole dance, remember it well!!!
Funny how other people remember that pole dance better than I do.