on aging

I am 55.  I have hair that could be called salt and pepper.  Wrinkles have appeared on my face, and my hands are beginning to look like the hands of an older woman.  My children are all grown, and I have grandchildren.  Eleven grandchildren.  Most of my older family members--grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, even some cousins--have gone to be with God, and my friends' parents are also beginning to take that journey.  When the weather changes my bones ache.  Yes, I am definitely getting older.

We live in a society that proclaims the beauty of things once thought distorted.  We exhort others not to make fun of people with disabilities.  We have,thank God, come to a place where we no longer show prejudice to people with different nationalities, skin, religion--or at least most of us have.  When I was a child, people who divorced were considered anathema and were unwelcome in church.  That stigma has largely disappeared.  The gay lifestyle is becoming more accepted, and we come closer and closer to allowing gay marriage as a nation.  All of these changes make it seem that prejudice is disappearing and that it is no longer okay to consider anything as open to reproach, condemnation, or humiliation.

There are two exceptions:  obesity and age.    Prejudice against the obese is very clear.  We are considered unacceptable, lazy, ugly, unloveable.  We are the butt of many jokes and are seen as a problem that needs to be changed.  Even those who should know better make invalid assumptions about us.  They take one look and think 'diabetes, heart problems, high blood pressure.'  It seems to be okay to categorize us and ridicule us.  We are often portrayed as sloppy and lazy, gluttons who have to eat an entire chicken at the table, sort of in the fashion of Henry VIII.  People who would rather eat worms than joke about homosexuals, the mentally deficient, or other races see nothing at all wrong with laughing at the poor fat dude falling in the road and splitting his pants because he's too fat to see the dog poo in the road.  That's out there, it's seen, it's being noticed, and it is slowly--infinitely slowly--being seen as wrong.  We are beginning to see overweight actors and actresses in roles that portray them as lovely, beautiful people worthy of respect.

Age is the other thing that is the target of--what? I'm not sure what to call it. But it is very clear.  If you are old, you are no longer desirable--unless, of course, you look young.  An old person who looks old is simply unacceptable. There are gels, foams, creams, dyes, and even surgery to assure that no matter what the age, the person can attain that youthful look that seems to be all that anyone desires.

Now, I'm not saying "A pox be on you if you are of the crowd that enjoys dying, trimming, creaming, and all the rest of it." All I'm saying is that for me, right now, I've opted out.  And my motives for opting out aren't as wholesome or "noble" as you might think.  In fact, they're pretty simple, really.  I'm always broke and I'm very much a procrastinator.  So when I would dye my hair, it was really pretty for about 5 weeks.  Then it stayed in various stages of grey for the next 6 months.  I finally just decided to let nature take over.  If I had money, maybe I would opt for tucking, tightening, or even removing altogether, but that's never going to be an option, so why even think about it?

So what does growing old mean?  Obviously, different things for different people.  For some, it means extra pressure to keep looking like you did when you were 20 or 30.  It means worrying about the future-retirement is just around the corner and nobody ever seems to have enough to live in comfort.  It means exercising and dieting more just to stay where you are.

For me, growing old means surviving.  It means looking life in the face and learning to laugh.  It means appreciating the wrinkles.  Above all, it means to be thankful for every day, every hour, every minute, every second that you're alive.

Some of you might be thinking, 'Wait, why is she even writing this?  She's only 55.  Fifty-five isn't old. But for me, 55 was pretty much inconceivable.  My mother died at 54, and I never thought past that number.  It was only in the last 10 years or so that I began to conceive of life after 55.  So I feel that if I die tomorrow, I have still cheated death out of one precious year!  True, my dad died at 81, but I take after Mama, at least as far as features go.  My mama never got to live to see old age.  I am grateful that I can.  Old age is much preferable to the alternative.

So to close, I like to remember a song from "Barnum":  "Thank God I'm Old."

 When you see the shape the world is in
When the way it is ain't what it's beenWhen folks just care for gold,Thank God, I'm oldWhen you take a gander at the newsWhen you hear the language people useWhen no sweet songs are sungI don't wanna be young
To end (really), I am not concerned about age.  Today is a drop in time, and tomorrow we will face eternity.  Every day it gets closer, and every day I look forward.  Whether I enter tomorrow or in 100 years, I am thankful that one day it will come, and there will be no more tears, no more crying and no pain, for the former things are passed away.