Growing older should teach us something

With almost each passing day I come to realize what an idyllic life I had growing up. In my little one-cafe, no traffic-signal town, I roamed the streets as a preteen without a worry in the world. I rode my bike, caught frogs and tossed a ball until the sun went down and then I went home. Or at least that’s the way I remember it now, and I honestly don’t think that is too far off the truth.
Suggest to Spouse that our 9-year-old ought to be able wander the streets until dark today, and, well, you’ve got a fight on your hands.
It was simpler then, yes, but a trio of truths permeated the rural culture of my childhood and my hometown: Sports were a big deal, you couldn’t grow a tomato, and old people were important, they were to be trusted and were a valuable resource.
I obviously define “old people” slightly differently now, with my current definition being anyone two, maybe three years older than me. Then it was gray hair and bib overalls and wrinkles that defined the group.
But my reverence for oldsters is starting to be shaken and I long for the idyllic utopian image that aging — growing older — used to hold for me. I was shaken again this past week when an 81-year-old Murray man was sentenced for abusing a 10-year-old girl who was delivering cookies previously ordered. This on the heels of a 57-year-old Roosevelt man caught in a drugs for sex scandal.
And I have also seen, as you have, news reports this summer of 60-plus characters nabbed for drug distribution, pornography involvement and other sex crimes.
Eighty-one! How dumb do you have to be to have not caught on by the time you are 81 what appropriate behavior is? Losing their keys, driving too slow, enjoying buffets just a bit too much — these are the crimes “the elderly” ought to be dodging, not sex abuse of children, drug distribution and pornography production and peddling And yet we see quite often that those who fall clearly into a category which I will call “old enough to know much, much better” are paired with these problems. It’s sickening to me. It shakes my faith in society as much as any other single thing to see oldsters — those who should be on someone’s pedestal and distributing wisdom — acting like doped-up dummies. Hasn’t life taught them anything? Have they really been fast asleep for four score years?
Perhaps it has always been this way. Maybe I really have had my head in the clouds. But deep inside me are feelings that shout: “Growing older should teach you something, you fool!” It makes me want to grind out a neck-sized millstone. And use it.
Those on the downward slope of life — and in the case of the 81-year-old with one foot firmly in the grave and the other on a banana peel — the aging should see clearly that they are mortal; that to get this far is, well, because of luck as much as anything else. Those who are one good case of the flu away from being six feet under should realize more than most that small, daily decisions determine long-term happiness. Why at this point of living would anyone want to destroy another life besides their own?
The aging should teach those of the rising generation — that’s one of their major obligations. They should find specific examples of life’s blessings and share them with their families and younger associates. They should tell stories about Okinawa and Germany and Korea and that bittersweet mixture of pain and patriotic pleasure. They should embarrass their children with stories told to the grandchildren. They should, without any shy hesitation, talk about times of no TV, no cell phone and Saturday-night dances. Picture albums should be dog-eared from overuse.
They should teach how to plant, weed and harvest, even if it is only a tomato and an eggplant. They should wear ridiculous hats at the beach and try to throw a Frisbee as well as a 7-year-old. They should learn to play at least one instrument in their life — be it a piano or violin, banjo or harmonica — just so they can bark out a few goofy old songs to the delight of those younger. Even if it is just once. And yes, it will be delightful.
They should be taking pledges to protect, not harm, the young. If aging has not done any other thing, it has surely pointed out the potholes and bear traps that aim to dent and snare. The aging should be a light in the dark, not someone’s reason for life-long therapy.
And, yes, I am trying to deal with my anger, trying to wrestle with the modern realities that are at cross-purposes with my idyllic memories. I get it now that there is evil out there, even rarely — thankfully rarely — in the elderly. I understand now that there are other things besides sports.
But it is still true that you can’t grow a tomato at my old house.