I Used to Be Young, but I Got Over It

I was looking for cheese in the grocery store, not watching where I was going, when I rammed into a display of gift bags placed at the edge of the aisle. Several bags fell, and a woman rushed up to help put them back in place for me. I was surprised at how quickly she reacted, and I thanked her. Then I noticed she was holding a cane.

“Oh, but you need some help yourself,” I said.

“Yes,” she answered, “But I am younger than you.”

Her husband, standing behind her, shook his head in disbelief and she, realizing she likely had insulted me, began apologizing.

“I’m so sorry,” she blustered. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“It’s fine,” I laughed.

“But still, I shouldn't have implied you were old.”

I smiled and moved on, more embarrassed by her profuse apology than by her original innocuous comment. I was observably older than her, through no fault of hers nor of mine. So why the need for an apology? Being old—or “older”—isn’t an insult. At least, it shouldn't be.

The Surprise of Aging

Aging often comes as a surprise to me, one I don't dwell on too much. I am just glad I inherited good genes and took care of myself through my many decades. I'm happy I can share a rich life of travel, reading, writing, and laughing with a spouse, siblings, and friends who are as old, or older, than me. I am proud that, through nature and nurture, I have lived almost eight decades and am a fully engaged member of society.

So it wasn't that the woman in the store implied I was old. The problem was that she saw it as an unmentionable—something polite people just don't talk about. Let’s talk about it, folks. It will happen to you too, if you’re lucky.

Bless her for helping me pick up my mess. I didn't necessarily need it, but we can all use more of that spirit from one another. She did absolutely everything right and nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong. I wish I had just said thank you, not mentioned her cane, and moved on. In fact, if there were to be shame assigned here, it could be to me for pointing out her use of the cane. Was that polite of me? Yet I didn't feel I needed to apologize. She seemed perfectly competent. A person can get over using a cane, but getting old is, at best, permanent.

It’s a complex psychological process, this aging thing. I want to do it gracefully, and as with all stages of life, it’s new to me and I’m still learning. Sometimes, I need help. Sometimes, we all do. It’s no big deal. But maintaining my autonomy is key to staying strong physically and mentally. That’s all I ask of strangers in the store—don't judge me as being less competent because my hair is grey and my skin well-textured. I’m just out doing my best, as we all are.

Next time, if something similar happens, I will be ready with the response that came to me, as usual, three days later. I will deliver it with a smile.

“That’s okay. I used to be young, but I got over it.”

Copyright Patricia Prijatel