For most of my life, I’ve been told by others to ‘grow up and be responsible.’ I bridle at such imploring because I consider myself to be a quite responsible person. It’s true, though, that I refuse to ‘grow up,’ but I have a very good reason for that. Not one of the people who tell me to ‘grow up and act your age,’ has ever been able to explain just what the heck that means.
I have this one friend, who is actually five years younger than me, who often chides me for refusing to embrace the so-called maturity that come with our age. He insists on spending his evenings in an old knit sweater, half asleep in front of his television, and when he does talk, it’s about the benefits of the latest fiber supplements. He simply cannot fathom why I’d rather wear my ‘Don’t let the b—–ds get you down tee shirt and binge watch episodes of ‘Corner Gas.’ “You’re not a teenager anymore,” he carps, as if my choice of entertainment is somehow inversely related to my ability to pay my bills on time.
I have another friend, a relative actually, whose idea of fun is to sit on his back deck and watch ducks swimming in the pond behind his house. He thinks I’m bananas because I prefer to put on my hiking boots and prowl the underbrush along the river bank in search of a great blue heron’s nest to get photos of it.
Then, there’s this lady friend of mine, the epitome of decorum, who spends her weekends knitting doilies that she keeps stuffed in boxes in her basement because no one wants them. When she comes to visit, she’s scandalized when I relate my latest venture, such as a hike up a mountain trail in the Shenandoah Valley in an effort to get photos of a black bear, or a visit to a local amusement park to try their latest roller coaster. “Aren’t you a bit old for roller coasters?” she asks, peering over her reading glasses with a shocked look in her eyes. I might be, I think, but until someone shows me a law that says it’s illegal for a person my age to ride a roller coaster, I’m still doing it.
The truth is, ‘acting your age’ is a vague concept that means different things to different people. To my elderly friends, it seems to involve a lot of sitting around letting the grass grow under your feet, comparing lists of aches and pains, and selecting a wardrobe that’s various shades of beige and gray. To me, it means embracing the joys of life, and treating each day as if it’s my last, and ignoring the number of candles on my last birthday cake. Why the heck should age dictate when you stop having fun?
My refusal to ‘act my age’ is sometimes a point of tension at social gatherings. When a bunch of us get together, I prefer playing Go with my thirteen year old granddaughter or flying a drone with my ten-year-old grandson, or joining all of my grandchildren in a rousing game of soccer in the backyard.
When I do play ‘quiet’ games, it’s more than likely a diagramless crossword puzzle — the kind that’s a blank grid that forces you not only to guess the clues but where they go in the puzzle — or solving a code, instead of a more sedate game of checkers. The games I play are not always the ‘for kids’ variety, but they stimulate my mind and make me feel good.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the wisdom and experience my elderly friends bring to interactions. I do. But, I’ve lived as long — in some cases longer — at they have, and actually had even more experiences. I like to think I’m pretty good in the wisdom thing too. But, there’s a kind of sadness in watching throw away their sense of playfulness, as though an arbitrary number has stripped it away. What they see as ‘growing up,’ I see as ‘giving up,’ and that’s something I simply refuse to do.
So, I’ll continue, as I’ve been for my entire life, to be the odd man out, the Peter Pan of my social group, clinging to my firm belief that life is meant to be enjoyed, not endured. My friends will never understand, I fear, and that’s okay. I’ll just have to live with their bemused expressions and eye rolls. After all, someone has to remind them that laugher and adventure are ageless, even if they occasionally come with a side order of gentle ridicule. | NWI
