There's an old cliche that I hear more and more as I grow older. Supposedly it started with the American actress Bette Davis, but I'm pretty sure the cliche was around long before that. People are always telling me that "Growing old ain't for sissies."
Like with most cliches, there's definitely some truth to it.
I remember the first time I became aware of what it must be like being old. I was twelve years old. My parents had invited a friend of theirs over for dinner. My mom and dad had known this guy ever since we came to America as DPs after the war. He was our neighbor, a Polish American who emigrated here just before the First World War. The night I remember when I first became aware of old age, he was in his late 60s, and after dinner he and my parents were sitting in the living room talking about old times. At some point, he excused himself and tried to stand up to go to the bathroom, but he couldn't stand up. His knees for some reason had given out, and he needed a hand from my dad and me to help him out of his chair.
I couldn't believe it. I had known this guy for years, and he always struck me as a bull of a man, large and strong and tough. In fact in his early twenties he had been a boxer, a fighter. He loved to talk about the fights he fought, the punishment to his body he overcame over and over. And suddenly, there he was, sitting in an easy chair in our living room and struggling to lift himself up.
I remember afterwards asking my dad why his friend couldn't stand up, and I remember my dad saying in Polish, "That's what happens when you get old."
I've just turned 72, and I'm beginning at last to understand what my dad meant.
My left knee is busted. My hearing aids hear more than I do. My blurry eyes can't focus. My feet are floppy. My heart is ruined. My sex drive only runs in reverse. My sense of balance is unbalanced. My sleep is broken up every night by 3 or 4 toilet trips. My voice goes in and out. My memory doesn't remember yesterday. My face is my father's. Finally, I'm an old man!
But there are things at 72 that I can still do. I can still sing the songs I love. I can still read. I can still swim and argue and joke. I can still hug and kiss the people I truly love, my wife, my daughter, and my granddaughter. And I can still do the things I love: I can eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, look at the clouds, and dream about tomorrow.
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My latest column for the Dziennik Zwiazkowy.
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