The crime of growing old

I never thought that you could offend people’s sensibilities by just being the way you really are. Years ago, Mary Pickford, the onetime screen darling of America, had managed to do just that. How? By growing old.

Actually, it was not solely Ms. Pickford’s fault. She had grown old at the time, all right, but the world would not have seen it and known – and not have been dismayed – had television not shown her in her natural shriveled state during an Oscar Awards night. And the issue would not have lasted long had gossip columnists not fanned the flames of public disappointment all the more by declaring that the ageing Ms. Pickford’s taped appearance was “in bad taste.”

Many people thought that Mary Pickford should not have been subjected to such humiliation, and the viewing public should not have been affronted by a sight they didn’t want to see. They thought that it was a blunder having Ms. Pickford’s segment on the Oscar’s program. The general feeling was that it destroyed the image of her that people had held.

Well, in that short footage, the 82-year-old Mary Pickford didn’t hit precisely the questions that were asked her. And she had no traces of that star of an era that she once was. Instead, she appeared “as a doddering, sickly old lady,” as a noted American newspaper columnist put it.

Yes, I agree that a doddering, sickly old lady didn’t hold well in the midst of all those beautifully poised, sexy young actresses and those handsome, rightly muscled actors in the show. So what? Ms. Pickford was appearing in connection with a special award she was given. That warranted her brief appearance.

Besides, what’s our problem with old age? Is it such a big surprise to discover that somebody might be wrinkled, frail, forgetful, and maybe even a bit senile when he or she gets to be 82 years old? One is only too lucky to be able to reach such ripe age. After all, people – all of us without exception – are getting older every minute, every single day.

Those who turned their heads away at the sight of Mary Pickford on that Oscars night, because they found her looks to be so disturbing, have a problem. Reasonable, mature people should have no problem accepting what is perfectly normal. Unless we are in a real bad state of health or too reckless in our ways, we will get to our own old age someday.

Britney Spears is physically stunning today, no doubt. But one day she’s going to wrinkle up, and maybe her teeth will fall off, maybe even her hair too, and her knee joints will go rickety-crack. Unless, of course, she dies young.

Being young has an uncanny thing to it. Many young people have little interest for the teachings of the old, treating the elders like they’re a queer lot. They turn away from what they most need. So they live their lives with no restraints, as if there’s no tomorrow. And, true enough, some of them never get to see the next sunrise. They never get to taste what they seem to fear: growing old.

It’s sad to note that each new generation seems to show lesser and lesser regard for the wisdom of the ones before it. Especially in this day and age of high technology, old ways are becoming obsolete, old ideas are being laughed at. And old people are quickly dismissed as irrelevant.

What’s sadder is that even old people themselves do sometimes make fun of one another regarding their age and the age-related difficulties they’re going through. But maybe it’s just a coping technique. Maybe they’re just trying to make light of their hard situation, to make it appear manageable at least.

And then there are the funny grandmothers who try to look like the twin sisters of their own granddaughters. They stretch out their facial skin like a drumhead. They girdle and buttress up their flabby bodies into odd curves and bulges. All that effort to hide their true age.

And more, these grannies know the names of all the gorgeous young men around, better than they can memorize the labels on their bedtime medicines. It’s obvious what they are trying to divert themselves from.

There’s a story being circulated around about two ageing local lady socialites. They met at a party. As customary among their circle, they greeted each other cheek-to-cheek. They exchanged praises for a while, about how youthful each other looked; and then one of them moved to mingle with the other guests.

As the lady was turning away, her friend caught sight of something peculiar protruding at the back of her laboriously teased hair. The latter hurriedly followed her and touched the curious-looking thing on the old lady’s head.

“You classy girl,” she told her, “what’s this nice hair clip you’re wearing?” The other lady was caught by surprise at the inquiry, to which she snapped in a hush,  “Shut up, you idiot. Those are my ears!”

That story must have been exaggerated, for sure, if it’s true at all. But, seriously, what’s wrong with looking your age? And why do many young people treat the elderly as if the old ones had better died a long time ago in their youth? It’s not only cruel—it’s insane!

Maybe I’m weird. I love to be around old people. They have seen more of life, and I believe they know a lot better. Some of them, though, don’t have the patience to put up with the natural ignorance and inquisitiveness of the young. But that’s perhaps because they’ve gone through it all a long time ago and are in a completely new mindset now, and not because they’ve simply grown cranky.

To grow old is not necessarily to die. Death comes a little bit later. Old people continue to live and think and feel. They can still get hurt or be happy. The only thing, though, many of them are already weak and in poor health and so are left to the whims of younger people to make them feel either way.

I am not yet so old myself, but I have many friends who are a lot more senior in years than me. In my own family alone, there are old people, too. I exert every effort possible to understand them, to know what it’s like to be where they are now, to learn more of that state where I will one day find myself in.

I do not take an elderly person only in terms of the way he or she already is. I try to look back to the past, to be able to grasp the whole stretch of lifetime in which the person has evolved. Doing that, I necessarily partake of the person’s vast experience.

In the process, my own life is enriched. More than that, I also get to familiarize myself beforehand with what’s sure to come. And I think it’s working for me—I don’t see growing old as a crime.