Get ready to get sick and tired of hearing about old people.
If you haven’t already had your fill of media attention — newspaper articles, magazine pieces, TV features, advertisements, political speeches — being devoted to the concerns of senior citizens, you probably will reach your limit in coming months or years.
We are in the age of aging baby boomers, a demographic bubble of children from the 1950s — like me — that has dominated every facet of U.S. society as they passed through the various phases of their lives.
Our concerns tend to become the nation’s concerns, and to name a few now getting more than their due attention: Alzheimer’s disease, nursing homes, erectile disfunction, anti-wrinkle skin creams, pain pills, living wills, funeral costs, aids for short-term memory loss, canes, hearing aides, old-age sex. It started over the last five years and will escalate.
Of course, as a boomer, I saw this coming six or seven years ago while planning to pursue my dream of writing the “great America novel.”
I thought people around my age, who had shown themselves always ready to read or watch anything about themself, might enjoy — and spend big bucks to read — a story featuring empty nesters rediscovering their love for each other while chasing down a murder mystery.
I was wrong (at least according to rejection letters form several dozen literary agents and small publishers, not to mention limited sales of my self-published novel, “This Point in Time,”) — or was I just ahead of my time?
Some Hollywood types evidently saw something similar a few years ago and put out a movie, “Hope Springs,” that centered on an aging couple (played by aging thespian legends Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones) rediscovering their love for each other. Rather than a mystery investigation or other actual plot device, their vehicle for this journey was couples therapy, and it was incredibly boring.
The movie apparently was moderately successful. But it did not immediately spark any big trend, mostly because boomers, while historically narcissistic, are not the big spenders that young folk are on entertainment offerings.
Another factor at work, though, may have been something I share: An aversion to reminders or depictions of the pitfalls of my situation or what’s in store. It’s tough enough getting into the final decades of life without being constantly told how others are doing or what YOU should be doing or what disasters may be coming. I suppose I just resist being lumped in with this generation that’s demanding so much attention.
For that reason, I have ignored nearly all the articles in “Booming,” a section devoted to my age group started about a year ago by the New York Times, and the publications of the AARP.
But lately two pieces of that ilk did draw me in. Both were in The New Yorker and actually concerned the senior set a few decades beyond the boomers. As such, perhaps they don’t qualify as interruptions in my avoidance of such writings. But they were tough to take on, nonetheless, as they depicted what may lie in store for me, both as the son of an octogenarian mother and a potential octogenarian (or older).
The first article, “This Old Man,” appeared in the Feb. 17-24 edition and was the most difficult to read. It was written by famed author Roger Angell and described in detail what it’s like to be age 93. (And as I write this, the 60s song “When I Was Young” by the Animals is playing on the radio: A guy in his 20s singing wistfully about those long-gone days when he was a teenager. “And I was so much older then, when I was young.” Ahhh, even in youth, missing being younger is a problem worth singing about.)
Angell’s piece was engagingly written and deeply touching. He gave a scarily honest depiction of surviving life for 90 years (through arthritis, macular generation, shingles, arterial stings, heart clamps, herniated disk, mental lapses, death of friends and loved ones). His main message is an advisory to maintain personal attachments — intimate ones.
He writes:
“Getting old is the second-biggest surprise of my life, but the first, by a mile, is our unceasing need for deep attachment and intimate love. We oldies yearn daily and hourly for conversation and a renewed domesticity, for company at the movies, or while visiting a museum, for someone close by in the car when coming home at night.”
He makes a strong case for continued passionate relationships right up until death, saying “to hell with” anyone who cannot stomach the sight of — or even the thought of — seniors so engaged.
I was glad I overcame my hesitations and got through the piece. While we all deal with life differently, I found these thoughtful words from a perceptive fellow senior to be worth heeding.
The second New Yorker item was actually a 12-page graphic insert by cartoonist Roz Chast: “Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?”
The comic book-style story depicted how Chast dealt with her parents’ final years, from their grime-covered family home to their dreaded nursing home to their final resting spots. Leavened with humor, the piece hit home in several fronts — as a son, parent and senior — and put a lump in my throat.
Again, I was happy I got some insights on aging from an obviously thoughtful person.
So, does this mean I’ll start jumping in to the barrage of boomer-centric material being sent my way? No. We must remain selective.
Meanwhile, for those who have gotten this far in this piece, perhaps you’re thinking I can serve the same purpose as Roger Angell and write about what it’s like to be 61. Well, ahem, I’ll just point out that’s been the theme of a little blog called “Geezer Alert.” Three posts — September 2012, “A geezer’s day? Or just this geezer’s day?”; May 2013, “A 60’s Hippie Turns 60”; and last December’s “Pursuit of Contentment” — were especially telling.
Beyond that, I’ll refrain from specifics. For one thing, it’s pretty personal stuff, reserved for my doctor. For another, I don’t think one individual situation is applicable to the whole.
While Roger Angell’s perspective in reaching 93 is a fascinating read, his particular set of physical problems (many more than average, it would appear), life experiences (career success, celebrity, loving wife, etc.) and attitudes toward aging make his advice applicable to a select few. It’s worth considering, of course, but open to interpretation.
Likewise, I’m pretty certain my life has brought me to age 61 in a unique manner. Put another way, my six decades have been lived under circumstances (exhaustive work, limited income, late fatherhood, early retirement to pursue a lifelong dream of writing a novel) that produced a person like no other. I’m not sure what anyone can learn from my experiences.
Further, I’m not certain how much anyone really can or should glean from the life lessons learned by ANY of their elders. Some things people just have to learn for themselves. Nothing makes a lasting impression like failure or success.
On the other hand, I suppose some very basic parental advice — either spoken or imparted by example — does stick, like: honesty is the best policy; take care of your teeth; treat others like you would like to be treated yourself; a penny saved is a penny earned; keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Along the way, the lessons from teachers, friends, coaches, relatives, celebrities and other adults touching young lives also carry a lot of weight.
From this mix hopefully comes individuals in their 40s or 50s who begin to realize the importance of listening to those who came before them. At that point, elders hope they can actually recall a lot of what was said and it is not too late to make a difference.
So, turning the tables, what pieces of helpful advice did I pick up along the way?
That question was partially answered in my post last November, “All good things, in moderation.” It was a compilation of my favorite life-guiding clichés and related simple truisms like “The proof is in the pudding.”
Outside of that, there’s basic stuff like:
** Bend your knees when lifting (to save your back).
** Drink a lot of water (to keep the kidneys functioning free of stones, for one thing; to stave off hunger, for another; for just general health, for a third).
** Don’t jump to conclusions (to prevent embarrassment from hasty decisions or rash judgments).
** There are three sides to every story (yours, mine and the truth).
** Stay active, physically and mentally (to keep the mind and body strong).
** Pay attention to your body (it’s telling you the truth about your condition).
** Everything you really need to know you learned in kindergarten (be kind to others, share, listen to your elders, don’t run with scissors, etc.)
Actually, that last point was stolen from a book by Robert Fulgham.
Here’s his complete list of “the things I learned (in Kindergarten):”
1. Share everything.
2. Play fair.
3. Don't hit people.
4. Put things back where you found them.
5. CLEAN UP YOUR OWN MESS.
6. Don't take things that aren't yours.
7. Say you're SORRY when you HURT somebody.
8. Wash your hands before you eat.
9. Flush.
10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
11. Live a balanced life — learn some and drink some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work everyday some.
12. Take a nap every afternoon.
13. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Stryrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
15. Goldfish and hamster and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup — they all die. So do we.
16. And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned —the biggest word of all — LOOK.”
⇒ Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
So, you see, if you were paying attention in kindergarten, you’ve known for quite some time all there is to need to know.
True at 5, true at 105.
If you haven’t already had your fill of media attention — newspaper articles, magazine pieces, TV features, advertisements, political speeches — being devoted to the concerns of senior citizens, you probably will reach your limit in coming months or years.
We are in the age of aging baby boomers, a demographic bubble of children from the 1950s — like me — that has dominated every facet of U.S. society as they passed through the various phases of their lives.
Our concerns tend to become the nation’s concerns, and to name a few now getting more than their due attention: Alzheimer’s disease, nursing homes, erectile disfunction, anti-wrinkle skin creams, pain pills, living wills, funeral costs, aids for short-term memory loss, canes, hearing aides, old-age sex. It started over the last five years and will escalate.
Of course, as a boomer, I saw this coming six or seven years ago while planning to pursue my dream of writing the “great America novel.”
I thought people around my age, who had shown themselves always ready to read or watch anything about themself, might enjoy — and spend big bucks to read — a story featuring empty nesters rediscovering their love for each other while chasing down a murder mystery.
I was wrong (at least according to rejection letters form several dozen literary agents and small publishers, not to mention limited sales of my self-published novel, “This Point in Time,”) — or was I just ahead of my time?
Some Hollywood types evidently saw something similar a few years ago and put out a movie, “Hope Springs,” that centered on an aging couple (played by aging thespian legends Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones) rediscovering their love for each other. Rather than a mystery investigation or other actual plot device, their vehicle for this journey was couples therapy, and it was incredibly boring.
The movie apparently was moderately successful. But it did not immediately spark any big trend, mostly because boomers, while historically narcissistic, are not the big spenders that young folk are on entertainment offerings.
Another factor at work, though, may have been something I share: An aversion to reminders or depictions of the pitfalls of my situation or what’s in store. It’s tough enough getting into the final decades of life without being constantly told how others are doing or what YOU should be doing or what disasters may be coming. I suppose I just resist being lumped in with this generation that’s demanding so much attention.
For that reason, I have ignored nearly all the articles in “Booming,” a section devoted to my age group started about a year ago by the New York Times, and the publications of the AARP.
But lately two pieces of that ilk did draw me in. Both were in The New Yorker and actually concerned the senior set a few decades beyond the boomers. As such, perhaps they don’t qualify as interruptions in my avoidance of such writings. But they were tough to take on, nonetheless, as they depicted what may lie in store for me, both as the son of an octogenarian mother and a potential octogenarian (or older).
The first article, “This Old Man,” appeared in the Feb. 17-24 edition and was the most difficult to read. It was written by famed author Roger Angell and described in detail what it’s like to be age 93. (And as I write this, the 60s song “When I Was Young” by the Animals is playing on the radio: A guy in his 20s singing wistfully about those long-gone days when he was a teenager. “And I was so much older then, when I was young.” Ahhh, even in youth, missing being younger is a problem worth singing about.)
Angell’s piece was engagingly written and deeply touching. He gave a scarily honest depiction of surviving life for 90 years (through arthritis, macular generation, shingles, arterial stings, heart clamps, herniated disk, mental lapses, death of friends and loved ones). His main message is an advisory to maintain personal attachments — intimate ones.
He writes:
“Getting old is the second-biggest surprise of my life, but the first, by a mile, is our unceasing need for deep attachment and intimate love. We oldies yearn daily and hourly for conversation and a renewed domesticity, for company at the movies, or while visiting a museum, for someone close by in the car when coming home at night.”
He makes a strong case for continued passionate relationships right up until death, saying “to hell with” anyone who cannot stomach the sight of — or even the thought of — seniors so engaged.
I was glad I overcame my hesitations and got through the piece. While we all deal with life differently, I found these thoughtful words from a perceptive fellow senior to be worth heeding.
The second New Yorker item was actually a 12-page graphic insert by cartoonist Roz Chast: “Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant?”
The comic book-style story depicted how Chast dealt with her parents’ final years, from their grime-covered family home to their dreaded nursing home to their final resting spots. Leavened with humor, the piece hit home in several fronts — as a son, parent and senior — and put a lump in my throat.
Again, I was happy I got some insights on aging from an obviously thoughtful person.
So, does this mean I’ll start jumping in to the barrage of boomer-centric material being sent my way? No. We must remain selective.
Meanwhile, for those who have gotten this far in this piece, perhaps you’re thinking I can serve the same purpose as Roger Angell and write about what it’s like to be 61. Well, ahem, I’ll just point out that’s been the theme of a little blog called “Geezer Alert.” Three posts — September 2012, “A geezer’s day? Or just this geezer’s day?”; May 2013, “A 60’s Hippie Turns 60”; and last December’s “Pursuit of Contentment” — were especially telling.
Beyond that, I’ll refrain from specifics. For one thing, it’s pretty personal stuff, reserved for my doctor. For another, I don’t think one individual situation is applicable to the whole.
While Roger Angell’s perspective in reaching 93 is a fascinating read, his particular set of physical problems (many more than average, it would appear), life experiences (career success, celebrity, loving wife, etc.) and attitudes toward aging make his advice applicable to a select few. It’s worth considering, of course, but open to interpretation.
Likewise, I’m pretty certain my life has brought me to age 61 in a unique manner. Put another way, my six decades have been lived under circumstances (exhaustive work, limited income, late fatherhood, early retirement to pursue a lifelong dream of writing a novel) that produced a person like no other. I’m not sure what anyone can learn from my experiences.
Further, I’m not certain how much anyone really can or should glean from the life lessons learned by ANY of their elders. Some things people just have to learn for themselves. Nothing makes a lasting impression like failure or success.
On the other hand, I suppose some very basic parental advice — either spoken or imparted by example — does stick, like: honesty is the best policy; take care of your teeth; treat others like you would like to be treated yourself; a penny saved is a penny earned; keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Along the way, the lessons from teachers, friends, coaches, relatives, celebrities and other adults touching young lives also carry a lot of weight.
From this mix hopefully comes individuals in their 40s or 50s who begin to realize the importance of listening to those who came before them. At that point, elders hope they can actually recall a lot of what was said and it is not too late to make a difference.
So, turning the tables, what pieces of helpful advice did I pick up along the way?
That question was partially answered in my post last November, “All good things, in moderation.” It was a compilation of my favorite life-guiding clichés and related simple truisms like “The proof is in the pudding.”
Outside of that, there’s basic stuff like:
** Bend your knees when lifting (to save your back).
** Drink a lot of water (to keep the kidneys functioning free of stones, for one thing; to stave off hunger, for another; for just general health, for a third).
** Don’t jump to conclusions (to prevent embarrassment from hasty decisions or rash judgments).
** There are three sides to every story (yours, mine and the truth).
** Stay active, physically and mentally (to keep the mind and body strong).
** Pay attention to your body (it’s telling you the truth about your condition).
** Everything you really need to know you learned in kindergarten (be kind to others, share, listen to your elders, don’t run with scissors, etc.)
Actually, that last point was stolen from a book by Robert Fulgham.
Here’s his complete list of “the things I learned (in Kindergarten):”
1. Share everything.
2. Play fair.
3. Don't hit people.
4. Put things back where you found them.
5. CLEAN UP YOUR OWN MESS.
6. Don't take things that aren't yours.
7. Say you're SORRY when you HURT somebody.
8. Wash your hands before you eat.
9. Flush.
10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
11. Live a balanced life — learn some and drink some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work everyday some.
12. Take a nap every afternoon.
13. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.
14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Stryrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
15. Goldfish and hamster and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup — they all die. So do we.
16. And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned —the biggest word of all — LOOK.”
⇒ Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
So, you see, if you were paying attention in kindergarten, you’ve known for quite some time all there is to need to know.
True at 5, true at 105.