Old Age Comes at a Bad Time: Glenn Blair

WESTLAKE, Ohio — A thought occurred to me recently — or maybe I saw it somewhere, I can’t remember — that while I don’t really mind getting older, it just seems to be coming at a bad time.

I should grow up when I’m a little more flexible—when bending and lifting things is no longer a chore, and when I can climb stairs without any problems, without needing a handrail.

This should have happened when my mind was sharper, because there are so many wonderful new gadgets—TVs, phones, cameras, and some things I don’t even know the names of. They’re incredibly interesting things, and I have a lot of time to play with them, but I’m overwhelmed by the complexity of it all and the new vocabulary.

Growing up should have happened when I was stronger and more agile. I have a drawer in my kitchen filled with tools that I use just for opening everyday food items—plastic bags, cans with rings, bottle caps. All of these things require strength and agility. And when I say tools, I don’t mean kitchen utensils—I mean tongs, scissors, vices, screwdrivers, a little hammer, and a really cool old gadget my wife bought for opening jars. When I’m grocery shopping, nutrition is secondary to whether I can actually open the food to eat.

Growing up was supposed to be a little more elegant and concerned about my appearance. When I first moved to my neighborhood just seven years ago, I would prepare for the 200-foot walk to the mailbox. I would shave, comb my hair, put on one of the 20 spectacular sweaters my wife knitted me, and basically do backflips, somersaults, and Irish dances on my way to the mailbox. Now I put on sweatpants over my pajamas, wear a sweatshirt from when the University of Illinois played in the NCAA national basketball tournament—and that was a long time ago—and walk like Tim Conway doing his old man number.

Growing up should come when I can see and hear a little better. I shouldn’t complain – my eyesight and hearing aren’t that bad, and I have the best equipment available. But it bothers me when I’m watching a play and everyone else in the audience is laughing at something I didn’t quite understand.

But most importantly, aging should have happened when I had more friends. A dozen or so—actually, many more—of the best people I ever knew were gone. Now would be the perfect time to enjoy being together. We would have plenty of time to talk. We have mellowed, we have different perspectives on things, and there are questions that have never been asked. This would be the perfect time to visit Bob—he would love to analyze today’s politics and elections—Myron, Judy, Dottie, Diane… The list goes on.

Well, I think I’ve proven that old age comes at a bad time. But what do I have to solve the problem? Nothing. Nothing, I guess, except my old solution: the Serenity Prayer’s advice to accept the things you can’t control, and a few words attributed to Mark Twain that are comforting: “Don’t regret growing old; it’s a privilege many are denied.”

But the bottom line—the one important message to take away from this—is to call, text, email, visit, or write while you still can. Don’t put anything off. In fact, do it now. Contact someone. Tell them some strange old guy insisted.

Glenn Blair is a retired Standard Oil executive and retired Baldwin Wallace faculty member who finds growing old much more enjoyable than the alternative.

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