A Perspective of Aging
“So, how old is God now?” my grandson casually asked one day. He couldn’t wait to get older, so everyone’s age—including the Almighty—was important. Of course, as the years pile on he may no longer welcome every birthday as eagerly.
Birthdays makes us aware of the passage of time like few things do especially when it speeds up like a car without brakes on the non-sunny side of that famous hill. However, how each age milestone is handled says a great deal about a person.
The parachute jump by former U.S. President George Bush, the father, to celebrate his 90th birthday was newsworthy because of his former job, but it was impressive because of his age. I recently read a piece about a man, age 55, and his eight-year-old son who won a race at a local father-and-son day. It told me that the man became a father relatively late in life and that he keeps in shape.
When I graduated from university, relatives and friends were quietly listening as names were called to receive that piece of parchment which gave credence to our years of toil. That is until the name of a woman well into her sixties was heard. The room broke out in thunderous applause. Her age made all the difference. She was proof that age is seldom a barrier to accomplishment.
One of my aunts passed away at the age of 101. Living that long is a feat worthy of notice and it got me thinking. Her brother, my father, was not so lucky and died at the age of 55 as a result of an accident. At the time I was quite young and thought my father very old, yet now that I find myself older than my father ever was my view of age has undergone a profound change. I know I’m no longer a “young chick,” yet neither do I consider myself old.
I am simply a grown-up.
To me, every year downhill is a feather in my cap not something to shy away from. When I turned 50 I went on a trip around the world. Originally I was to go with a friend, but when she cancelled I went anyway. I bought my one-way ticket around the planet with many stops along the way on four different continents, and it was a most rewarding and enriching trip. I got to visit exotic locales and met some wonderful people. The memories will always be cherished. It was a daring thing for a not-so-young woman to do, and it proved—to me, anyway—that age is indeed just a number.
Now older than my father I am proud to do things he never would have done because he lived in the pre my-age-does-not-stop-me era, like ride a bike, ski, play tennis, etc. Yet, I know I will continue to do these things for some time.
I am inspired in part by another aunt who when she was 100 still considered herself not especially old. When I went to see her at the residence she called home when she was 95 I was told by the receptionist who looked at me as if I should have known, “It’s Wednesday. She’s at the yoga class.” While I’m sure this is not the norm for everyone in that age range, it beats the mindset that considers aging as a license to sit around and mope a less-than-perfect body.
There are some benefits to getting older. For one thing, you stop worrying about what people think of you because you realize that they seldom do think about you. They are too busy with their own lives and concerns. You stop being impressed by such things as money and looks because you’re wise enough to understand that only the hearts and souls of people are enduring and endearing.
“So, are you younger or older than 100?” my age-conscious grandson asked me some years back on my birthday. In his mind I was a grandmother and therefore old because his granny, his great-grandmother, was nearing 100 and he heard the comments of the adults. Grandparents are grandparents, right?
I can only hope that I inherited some of my family’s good genes for living well past what is still considered the norm, and that one day I’ll be able to tell my grandson that I am indeed older than 100.
Especially if I can do it as we parachute jump together.
