You’ll
All Be Old One Day!
I find it hard to believe I’m in my 70th
year. But my birth certificate confirms I was born on 6 October 1943.
I don’t feel like I’m that old, although I suspect I must look it. The
first sign of encroaching old age (apart from the usual tell-tale signs of
galloping grey rapidly thinning hair) happened a few years ago when, as usual,
I was going to work by tram and a 20-something person proffered her seat. I
quickly glanced around me, naturally thinking her offer was for someone in need
such as, a heavily pregnant mother-to-be, or an ancient retiree, or perhaps
someone with a disability. But no, the offer was made to ME! Of course, I indignantly replied, “No, thank you!” precariously
clinging onto one of those heavy plastic anchor-shaped devices dangling down
from the roof as the tram lurched and swayed when it hit one of those
ridiculous curves in the tramline in St Kilda Road opposite the Arts Centre in
Melbourne.
I don’t feel I’m nearly 70 – more like, say, my late 30s or early 40s. Maybe this is a psychological defence people
of a mature age put up as a denial of the obvious? My wife’s late grandmother
was a classic in this regard. At the age of 92, my wife took her to see her
doctor about her failing eyesight. She too, became quite agitated when he
suggested her problem was caused by her advanced years. “Old! What do you mean
old? I’m not old!” You could understand her point of view though, because she
was still driving her car, cooking her own meals, doing the housework and
tending her small garden at the time.
The words a work colleague, Les Nielsen, said to me 51 years ago still
ring in my years. “You’ll be old one day!” he said, in response to my calling
him an “old bathplug” or something similar, as we played our usual jousting
game one morning at Bushells (a tea and coffee company located at Circular Quay
in Sydney) where I was working as a newly-appointed executive trainee and he was a soon-to-be-retired
long-standing employee. I retorted with something stupid like, “I’ll never be
as old as you!”
Why is it, I wonder, I can still clearly
remember that exchange which occurred in 1961, when virtually anything else
that happened that year has passed completely from my memory? Anyway, his words
stuck in my conscious memory and my
pathetic reply has remained embedded in my conscience. He was right on the
money – age doesn’t discriminate, it gets everyone eventually. Even smart-ass
18 year-olds who think they know it all and believe they’re bullet-proof as
well.
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