“How old was he?” I asked.
“Old,” she said, “Had to be
seventy-five, at least.”
“Oh, you mean he was an old(er) man.”
She looked at me with a blank stare and
must have realized that I had to be approaching the age of the man she
was telling me about. It was at that moment I decided I would never be “old,”
but simply “old(er).” So much young(er) sounding, don’t you think?
The word “old” is a word to describe
food left too long in the refrigerator. It just doesn’t smell right. Or
underwear with holes in it. Something to
throw out.
As I ponder the vast chasm created between
these words simply by adding -er, I realize what power the simple suffix holds. After
all, who wouldn’t want to be rich(er) rather than just rich, smart(er) rather
than smart, or thinn(er) rather than thin. Ah, scratch that last one. I’d
settle for just thin since that’s not been an adjective applied to me in too
many years to count… But the adding of this mighty mite of a suffix can also
have a negative voice too. After all, who would want to be fatt(er) than fat or
mean(er) than mean?
Just below that article, I see another headline, "Baby delivered by Atlantic City Policeman." Now there's an age word that conjures all positive images like cuddly and cute. All good unless you happen to be a new parent, then you might add sleepless nights.
And now, I’m really feeling unnerved by
this whole age quantifier. I decide to check out some of the experts’ views. Erikson,
that’s where I’ll start. During my graduate counseling courses he was always my
go to guy for a psychosocial theory of development. Each stage of life, he believed,
involves a particular task in order to move on to the next stage of life. I
consult my number one research tool: Google.
Definitely, a downer. Strange, I think,
how as a forty-year old student, I believed he was right on target, totally
hitting the bulls eye of life. Now I’m not so sure. I read on and see I’ve
reached the eighth stage of development. The point at which I must answer the
question, Did I lead a meaningful life?
Wait a minute. I’m still in the midst of
that meaningful life, busy trying to do all the things I never had time to do.
No time to worry about the past. Maybe lat(er)… I read on and see that
according to my former counseling super guru I am also at the final stage, the last step on the stairs, of my
earth journey. That sounds so final. And according to Erikson, this stage
started at age 65. I don’t let that number get to me, though, because a lot has
changed since he developed his thesis sometime in the ‘50’s.
I
continue reading and see my present life task is all about reflecting back on
my past life. Well, I have to grudgingly admit he may
have a point there. I do find myself thinking about my former experiences from
time to time and I know my children and grandchildren get a glazed look in
their eyes when I repeat stories they’ve heard a gazillion times. The word
“gazillion” is one of their words, not mine. And so, I guess I must admit that
I am in that place. Sort of, but not totally.
But more than I think about my past
life, I think of the present and the future with hope for what is ahead. Instead
of focusing on reflections of past accomplishments and misdeeds, my efforts
include tasks like finding a place to dance—before 11 PM to music I love. And
if not, I can always dance in the kitchen with my lov(er), the old(er) man who’s
danced with me for the past 50 years.So, I will continue to grow old(er), but never be old.
