April is my birthday month. I’m now somewhere between 39 and 100. Never mind where exactly that is.
Aging brings on lots of problems — eyesight goes, hearing goes, teeth go, and a lot of money goes for appointments with doctors, optometrists, dentists, audiologists, podiatrists, pharmacists and lab personnel who take your blood to make sure you still have some.
Despite the aggravations, I’ve found that aging brings on an equal number of joys, which is what I’m going to focus on rather than grieving over being a year older.
One joy is that I’m smarter than I was at 20. I’ve learned a great deal just from being alive for 39 (or slightly more) years. And I’m wiser than I was at 30 too. I know what counts in life now and I don’t go after things that don’t count.
I’m more content. I enjoy being at home now, and I love a normal day. I don’t require the stimulation of having to do new things all the time. I don’t require the “high moments.” I’ve done most of the things I wanted to do, and I’ve seen most of the places in the world that I wanted to see. Well, if somebody wants to offer me a free trip to Iceland and Norway, I wouldn’t turn that down.
Looking back on my life, I appreciate what I accomplished, and I realize that whatever I failed at didn’t hamper me too much so I don’t worry about past mistakes. My theory is that if I could have done a thing differently, I would have, but what I did, dumb as it might have been, probably seemed like my only course at the time.
Another joy of aging is that retirement came along and gave me a chance to do some things I couldn’t do when I was teaching. I’ve had time for another part-time career at the newspaper. I’ve had time to get very involved in my church. I’ve had time for things like aerobics classes, book club and getting more involved with my friends.
There’s a financial advantage to old age too. I get senior discounts at some stores and restaurants. Our house and cars are paid off, so our expenses are fewer. My son has been out of my pocket for years, giving me a chance to recover from paying for college, his vehicles, ski trips and the groom’s wedding expenses. Now I’m enjoying watching him meet those expenses for his own three kids and realize what all was done for him.
And though chivalry is dead, people still open doors for us oldsters, maybe because they think we’re too feeble to do it and they’ll have to stand there and be delayed while we fumble around.
On the last flights we made, young men would ask if they could hoist my heavy carry-on into the luggage compartment for me. Of course I let them because I’m a bit short to reach up there. I didn’t bother to tell them that I lift weights and survive two aerobics sessions a week. I wanted them to feel good about themselves by helping an old lady.
And finally, when you get old you have an excuse to avoid jury duty. The legal eagles assume that you’re too deaf to hear the testimony, that you won’t be able to stand without a loud “oooff’ when the judge comes in, and that you’ll have to be dismissed too many times to go to the bathroom. Or you’ll dribble your pureed food down your shirt at lunch and have to be cleaned up by a bailiff, therefore delaying the afternoon’s closing arguments, keeping the attorneys from their 3 p.m. tee time.
That’s okay. Jury duty is necessary and good, but it’s a huge disruption to your schedule.
I never actually served on a jury even back when I was in my right mind. I was called several times, but I never make it to the trial. I was either a friend of the attorney or I had taught or was teaching the defendant, who would walk in and wave: “Hey, Mrs. McLean! Are you gonna be on my jury?” That was good for my instant dismissal.
I was even dismissed right in the middle of giving testimony at a hearing one time. The lawyer asked me a question and I answered it, knowing a bit more embarrassing stuff about the defendant than he did. He turned several different colors, got all blustery, and yelled “This witness is dismissed!” before I could finish telling all I knew.
So as much fun as that was, I was glad to reach an age when I thought I was beyond getting another jury summons.
Until last week, that is, when I got a little card telling me that I have to fill in some paper work as a potential juror in federal court. Apparently they don’t know my reputation for being a waste of legal time. Or my age. But I’ll fill in the questionnaire anyway and send it to them so they can decide if they want me when they see I’m old, I speak my mind, and I may have to have restroom breaks.
And maybe I’ll send a copy of this column along to show them that I won’t appreciate having my Golden Years messed up by jury duty that’s just going to end in sending me home when a defendant they’re trying is my former student who will walk in and wave to me.
