According to an ancient Chinese proverb, “An elderly person at home is like a golden treasure.” This adage, alas! hasn’t aged very well, neither in China nor in the rest of the world. How did a “golden treasure” devolve into a heavy burden of lead? A contemporary cartoon says it all; how did we get to be so mean?
Having a
loved-one at home with a debilitating disease such as Alzheimer’s can be, of course,
a difficult burden to bear. When I returned from a year abroad in 1966, I was
dismayed to find my grandmother irrevocably altered. Her mind was slipping
rapidly. In her decline, she had been fond of wandering through the house. On
one occasion, I was sitting in the kitchen when she wandered upstairs. (My
grandparents lived downstairs in our three-story Jersey City house.) When she
reached the kitchen, I offered her a seat on my lap which she readily accepted.
A few minutes later, she wandered off again. A few months later, she was dead. Even
in our dysfunctional family, however, we treated her well and were sorry to see
her go.
The Ancient
Chinese, however, knew nothing about Alzheimer’s. They had a Confucian reverence
for older persons not because they were weaker, which their bodies certainly
were, but because of a factor which made them stronger and more of a golden
treasure: experience. As another Chinese proverb attests, “The gray hair of experience
is the splendor of old age."
2.
My mother,
Mabel Lemonie, (1914-2001), was a beautiful woman, even in old age. She never
wanted to admit she was old, however. Her idea of an old woman was a frumpy,
retired librarian who wore those hideous black orthopedic shoes. She would also
have had thin, gray hair which had been dyed, ‘tinted,’ a nauseating hue of blue.
(I remember having once recommended that she join a senior citizen center in
order to keep active and to socialize. “That’s for old people,” she replied,
even though social isolation, a demon of old age, began to affect her quality
of life.)
My mother’s
response to growing older was to remain as youthful as possible, a worthy habit
indeed. However, due to a limited education and lack of professional opportunities, growing in experience was less a feature of her goals. The
woman’s movement, which came too late for her, might have changed her life, for
she was intelligent and willing to learn. She did grow in life experience,
however, but had few opportunities to mentor others. She remained youthful until
old age began to take over. She succumbed to Alzheimer’s like her mother did,
but remained cognitively intact for a decade longer. Who knows what her future
might have been, if she had had more cerebral activities to occupy her time? She
knew what was most important in life, however. Human relationships, especially
regarding my brother and me, were always foremost in her mind and behavior. I still
miss her.
Here is a
poem I dedicated to her, written while she still was very much alive:
The
Goldfish
Nothing
could be more mongrel, more common
than this five-and-dime store species
of tropical, egg-laying tooth carp
or brighter
gold. No fish is cheaper
or hardier, able to survive fungus,
chlorine, changes in temperature, and
even the
on-and-off care of a child.
For two months, no neighbor fed
them; we
came back, half-dead from jet lag,
and found
them thinner and swimming in
what evaporation left; a little puddle,
black with plant decay. A change of
water, a pinch
of dried worms, and
Presto! starvation becomes perfect health.
Always swimming, almost always searching
for something
more than food, these creatures,
whether in tanks in American bedrooms or
in ponds of Buddhist temples in Japan,
calm and
delight minds everywhere.
For what is more striking and odder
than moving gold, being, as we are, alive?
3.
How did we
learn to view the old as poor imitations of the young? How did we learn to
discount the experience of older Americans? Can’t one limp and be wise at the
same time?
A poem by
John Greenlief Whittier comes to mind, one more familiar to me through James
Thurber’s comic volume, Famous Poems Illustrated, which I loved as a young man.
The poem is based on a true incident. It was 1862 as Confederate hordes, under
the leadership of Stonewall Jackson, entered Frederick, Maryland, in search of
food and supplies. Out of fear, all Union flags had been removed as the Confederate
troops approached. The 96 year-old Barbara Frietschie continued to wave the
American flag defiantly from her attic window. She shouts—in the poem, at least—these
defiant words to Stonewall Jackson, “Shout, if you must, this old gray head,
but spare your country’s flag,” she said. The Confederate general was so moved
by her bravery, that he forbade his troops from harming her. I can only imagine
how this even would have occurred today.
“General,
look at that old bat in the window, defiantly waving the enemy’s flag in our
faces. Doesn’t she know she’s risking death? She’s undoubtedly loony! Let me
take her down.”
“Let’s
ignore the old bat until it flies away—besides, she can’t help it; she’s
senile…”
4,
Let us
explore that ancient Chinese proverb which states that the gray hair of
experience is the splendor of old age, this time with a reference to
contemporary American politics. Our ex-president Trump constantly refers to our
current president Biden as being obviously cognitively impaired. There is, of
course, no evidence of this. Biden has been a very effective president so far,
having passed many important bills into law. (The 1.9 trillion dollar American
Rescue Plan comes to mind.) He did this with bipartisan support, a remarkable accomplishment
considering the political divisions in Congress. His 35 years of experience in
politics have obviously paid off. Yet everyone pounces on any sign of old age. Yes,
experience and arthritis are not mutually exclusive. Yet any slip or evidence
of arthritis is used as proof that Biden is in his dotage. What about experience, which Biden has in abundance; no one seems to mention that. I remember a clip of
Biden jogging to a lectern to give a speech; he felt obliged to demonstrate that
he was still spry.
The Chinese
proverb doesn’t claim that physical decline doesn’t increase as one’s hair grays do;
experience often compensates for the inevitable physical decline, however.
Biden is
not a middle-aged man in an old man’s body; he is an old man who has perhaps
more to offer the nation now than ever before. The stress of the presidency however
is great; although fewer than three years older than I am; I certainly doubt if
I could handle the stress of the presidency now.
Yet it
angers me that any slip of the tongue or foot on Biden’s part is viewed as a
sign of increasing senility. (Biden was
never silver-tongued throughout his career.)
I’m afraid
that the model of our nation is a reality show in which all the contestants and
judges are fairly young. There’s nothing like being young; being old, however,
is not nothing, and when combined with
the wisdom of experience, can be a great advantage. Just because you use a
cane, doesn’t mean you lack a brain.
I’m
convinced that our slick, sick Youth-worshiping culture is depriving us of the wisdom
and experience of older individuals, at a time when we can ill afford the lack
of those gifts. It’s as if we force a wise old man to do the Charleston in
order to prove that he has the stamina to deliver a contemporary version of the
Gettysburg Address. What a mess!
I will
conclude with a recent poem of mine, Youth and Experience:
Youth and
Experience, blood
brothers
though decades apart.
One is a
rosy-cheedked lad who imagines
he's gold,
the other, a duller alloy.
A prune
decaying in the sun
was once an
ambitious plum.
Yet a cracked
voice whose source is strong
attempts to
reverse callow wrongs:
Your
pocketful of dimes; spend them
on
relationships, the only things that last.
Why don’t
younger people listen?
Must sages
have holes in their shoes? Socrates
eating spaghetti
in an empty
cafeteria--
If he uses
a cane,
he cannot
be wise.
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