It's my brother's eightieth birthday today and, of course, that reminds me that I am even older. Did I hear someone say that 80 is the new 60? If not, I wish I had. In fact, I don't feel much different today than I did ten years ago. But that's a bit of a fallacy. When I was 60, I was holding down a full-time job, orienteering at the weekend and planning holidays in foreign countries. I was looking yesterday at a Youtube video of people cavorting around in Iceland. It looked wonderful but, when I analysed the trials of getting there, the rough ground they had to walk on, and the distance they had to cover, the weather they had to deal with and so on, I realised that my age would be a real factor in deciding whether that sort of holiday would suit me.
I think of the last time I was on a plane: a short flight to Sydney. I happened to have a middle seat so it was not ideal but, even if I had been on the aisle, I would have struggled with the claustrophobic feeling.
I'll have to face up to it: my travelling days are behind me. Maybe today's story is particularly appropriate for today.
100 YEARS AND COUNTING NOVEMBER 10, 2023
“Please listen to me,” I said. “I don’t want a party.”
They won’t leave me alone. You’d think that, at 99 years and 11 months of age, a man could be treated with some respect but they think that they know best.
“You’ll enjoy it when you get there,” they say, “And it will be good to see all your old friends again.”
All my old friends? There’s not one of them can even remember his own name, let alone mine. They’ll be winkled out of their nursing homes by whichever member of their family has responsibility for them this month and dragged along to be sat down in a corner and ignored until it’s time to go home. Why would I inflict that on them?
And my own family? What are they going to get out of it? My kids are in their seventies and almost ready for a nursing home themselves. Their kids, in their fifties, are too busy to be bothered with such nonsense and the next generation is so intent on getting rich, the thought of a party for an old has-been with one foot in the grave will be the last thing they want.
What I would like is for my birthday to be treated like every other day of the year with no fuss and no cards and no presents. What would they buy for a 100-year old, anyway? I haven’t even opened the presents I got for last Christmas: I know it will be more underwear and pyjamas to add to the collection I already have. One of the carers here told me that the local paper has been informed and they’re planning to send along a reporter to interview me. I can’t think of anything more boring. I‘ll fix them, though. I’ve been practising my ‘dotty old man’ act and, if I act senile, they might take the hint and leave me alone.
I’ve been listening to an audiobook which came from the library. Some bright spark discovered I am turning one hundred and decided I needed to hear this book called The 100-year-old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared. I wish I could do that. I haven’t heard much of it as I keep falling asleep but, apparently, he has many adventures and meets important people. I remember the first chapter where the hero, Allan gets one of his carers to smuggle vodka into the nursing home. Maybe I could try that, although I would prefer Whisky to Vodka.
My grand-daughter is coming to see me this afternoon. She is clearly the next one in line to try to make me change my mind. My daughter left in tears last week after I told her that I would rather die than have a birthday party. Maybe I was a bit harsh but, just because I’m old doesn’t mean that I can be treated like a child. I’ll have to remember to apologise to my daughter when I see her next and try to be on my best behaviour when my grand-daughter gets here.
Thinking about parties brings back wonderful memories. I can barely remember going to parties when I was child but there was one, later, which stands out: I was turning 22 so it would have been 1945. I was in the army, of course, and we had just been de-mobbed and were on a train travelling down from Brisbane to Sydney We were just so grateful to be alive and could just imagine the wonderful opportunities opening up before us.
And, they were great times. We had been promised ‘a world fit for heroes’ and, although we worked hard, we knew we were building a better future. I met my wife around then and we were married for over 60 years. I’m not able to remember very clearly the details of all that occurred but I do know there were significantly happy times, and some sad. I know we fell out from time to time but we always made up again.
So, I know what I want to do for my birthday. I don’t want a so-called Birthday Party, sharing my significant day with people who are there out of a sense of duty, putting on false smiles and offering insincere good wishes.
I want to enjoy my 100th birthday with my memories, the ones that remain. The best present I could receive is to be able to re-live those wonderful years when I was in my prime. And I have my photo albums. When I tell my family that this is what I would like to do, they say, “But won’t you be lonely?”
And I say to them, “I won’t be
alone,” but they don’t understand.
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