Who Hurts the Most?

I recently eavesdropped on an Internet conversation about “trigger alerts,” which took a side turn into whether baby boomers or younger generations had a harder time when growing up. In this discussion, baby boomers maintained that, as youth, we didn’t need to be alerted when something painful was about to be discussed in a classroom or on a TV show, and that the new generation was being coddled by being warned ahead of time that the lecturer or movie had material—about rape or violence, for example—that might hurt or offend. Instead of turning away from offensive or scary material, the baby boomers argued, we need to confront our fears, not avoid them.

As an older baby boomer, this rang true, until I started reading comments from younger women. They talked about being raped—a word I hardly knew when I was in high school—and pointed out that they had grown up with the threat of school shootings, and the subsequent preventive measures, like lock-down drills, that promoted constant fear and anxiety.

We baby boomers had our own school drills, like crawling under the desks to practice what we would do if the Soviet Union launched nuclear warheads at the U.S., something that seemed very possible during the Cold War when both countries were building nuclear arsenals that threatened the destruction of the whole planet, otherwise known as MAD—mutually assured destruction.

Continue reading “Who Hurts the Most?” →
9

Saving Face

When my mother was in the last few years of her life, I could see how she learned to hide her dementia and hearing loss. To compensate for not comprehending what someone was saying, she would carefully read the other person’s face and listen to the tone of their voice, so she could respond appropriately. If I were smiling, she might say “That’s good.” If I were frowning or looked upset, she would say “That’s hard.” Sometimes she guessed wrong and would smile when I mentioned a friend who had cancer.

It was easier to pretend to understand rather than repeatedly asking “What?” I know that feeling because I do it myself sometimes. None of us want to appear to be failing, even to ourselves. We want to maintain the illusion that we are still in control.

My dad, who also had dementia, was braver than my mom or me. Once, when visiting with my cousins, we were all taking at once and over each other. My father finally had enough. “I can’t understand all of you. Can you talk one at a time?” He knew he was losing some of his abilities and wasn’t afraid to ask for help. Of course, this was the same man, who, in his 80s and no longer able to remember directions, took the car out by himself, against the pleadings of my mother, and got so thoroughly lost that it took the police two days to find where he left the car.

My mother, at least, knew when to stop driving. She announced one day that her eyesight wasn’t good enough, although her doctors thought it was fine. I suspected that the real reason was that she had a bad experience while driving, something she was too embarrassed to reveal. Maybe she got confused and almost caused an accident. But it was easier for her to blame her eyesight rather than admit she was losing control. Will I be brave enough, when the time comes, to admit I can no longer drive?

Continue reading “Saving Face” →
7

The Pleasure of Speaking My Mind

Last year, before the pandemic, I spent a few days on vacation with two long-time friends, and I noticed how strong and independent we had become. We didn’t need someone to tell us to clean the kitchen or start dinner. If something needed to be done, we jumped in and did it. But we also knew what we wanted and needed and weren’t shy about saying so. Like “I need a nap now.”  Or “I can’t sleep with that light on.” Or “I can’t eat dinner that late.” Or “It’s too cold and icy to go for a walk.”

It occurred to me that if we were with younger people, they might judge us to be crabby old ladies. In fact, that’s how I judged my grandparents when I was young.  But now that I’m officially an old codger, I can see that old age confers self-knowledge and awareness that I didn’t have when I was younger.  

I remember a bus trip through Portugal when I was in my 30s. In the small-town plazas, old men sat on benches, enjoying conversations and a warm day. Their faces had so much character—lines and creases that reflected decades of easing into their true nature—and were more interesting to me than the faces of the young people, which seemed unformed and all alike.

Like many others, I loved the photo of Sen. Bernie Sanders at President Biden’s inauguration. He was sitting off by himself rather than hobnobbing with Washington’s elite, who were dressed up for the occasion. Instead, Bernie was wearing thick mittens and a sturdy down parka, and looking a little grumpy at having to be outside on a cold day. He was an old man trying to stay warm, and he didn’t care what anyone thought.

Continue reading “The Pleasure of Speaking My Mind” →
7

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑