REFLECTIONS
OF A SEPTUAGENARIAN
I find it hard to believe I am a
septuagenarian. But my birth certificate confirms it.
I
don’t feel like I am that old, although I suspect I must look it. The first
realization of encroaching old age (apart from the usual tell-tale signs of
galloping grey, rapidly thinning hair) happened about five years ago when I was going
to work by tram and a 20 something young lady politely proffered her seat. I
quickly glanced around me, naturally thinking her offer was for someone in obvious 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 am in my 70s – 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 am 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 54 years ago still ring in my
years. “You will be old one day!” he said, in response to my calling him a silly
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, full of himself,executive
trainee and he was a soon to be retired, long-standing employee. I retorted with
something stupid like, “I will 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 does not discriminate, it gets everyone eventually.
Even
smart ass 18 year olds who think they know it all and believe they are bulletproof
and age proof as well.
djdelene.blogspot.com
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