Aging

Aging

by Marco M. Pardi

“Old age takes away from us what we have inherited and gives us what we have earned.” Gerald Brenan. “Life”.

“Ultimately, our lives do not make complete sense until we know with certainty that we are at the very end of our lives. Only then, as we view the finished mosaic, do the pieces fit and tell our story.” Marco M. Pardi

All comments are welcome and will receive a reply. All previous posts are open to comment.

For most of my life I did not think about aging except in abstract, rather academic ways. As the “One day at a time” mantra grew louder for others I felt no particular enlightenment or conversion; I had already been living that way as what I considered normal. After all, we tend to remember the very few plans that worked out and forget the very many that didn’t. So why waste time planning?

Some would say my lack of planning stems from disengagement or even disinterest in life. That could be. Very few of my early weeks passed without my mother wailing at me about how much she was “sacrificing” for me. The message was clear: she would have been better off had I not been born. Oddly, she was never specific about what she was sacrificing, and I never really cared to ask. I woke up each morning, went about my day, and went to bed at night. If I woke up the next day, fine. If I didn’t wake up the next day, fine. My only plan, if there was one, was to grow up and leave. But don’t assume I wanted to spare anyone the burden of my presence; I just thought being alive wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Some would say that’s not a healthy lifestyle. Why? How about the 100+ men, women, and children who went to bed a few weeks ago and got smashed like roaches on the kitchen floor as their high rise condominium building pancaked? Did they fail to plan ahead?

Becoming a parent, at age 27, brought significant changes. But in a few years came an unavoidable divorce. For the next couple of years I fought hard to gain custody of my daughter, even having an expert child psychiatrist present the court with a thorough analysis showing she would be far better off with me. But, the courts at that time were firmly of the mind that “A bad mother is better than no mother at all.” Over subsequent years I fought through continuous bouts of soul crushing guilt arising from the feeling I had not done enough. Not something a person should plan to experience. But I never had a moment of Oh, what I’ve sacrificed for her.

Oddly enough, while the divorce was progressing I began teaching Death & Dying at the state college where I was on the faculty. It’s often said that if you want to really know a subject, teach it. And Death & Dying is not just about taking your last breath. It includes a wide array of what are called “mini-deaths”: the variety of losses including amputations, loss of function, loss of career, loss of a loved one, and yes, divorce and loss of child custody. Never before or since was it ever so true that my lectures were often talking to myself as much as to the students.

Subsequent relationships, such as they were, were few, far between, and short. My daughter was my focus. Then the best relationship I had ever had developed with a woman a year or so younger than me and lasted through years, huge geographic moves, and occupational turmoil. We never argued. Not once. But uncontrollable circumstances pulled us apart, and she suddenly died soon after. Not in the plan, if there was one.

Today, as a grandfather of three, I find myself in an expanded role. The oldest grandchild is in the top 10% of her medical school class; the next just graduated from college and is in preparation to be a carrier based Navy fighter pilot; and the third is completing college at the top of her class with a major in Finance and minor in Environmental Science. I only half joke that each of them is way over my pay grade. But I can discuss the nexus of medicine and politics, the risks of being thrown into armed conflict on the whim of craven Imperialists, and the perceived gap between what we must do for the planet and what we can do given our cultural values and financial resources. I don’t expect to receive requests such as, Grandpa, tell us how they did it in the old days. The old days are what got us here.

Looking back is a luxury of questionable worth. But I feel one of my strengths is the ability to draw upon intimate experience with and knowledge of real Fascism, not the stuff portrayed in movies. I am convinced that most Americans really have no idea just how close the United States recently came to descending into the pit of Fascism disguised as Make America Great Again. Nor would most Americans recognize the deception once it is in place. The architects of this prison complex have been in place since the 1920’s and the Red Scare and the brutal suppression of the Labor Movement. The descendants and heirs of this vicious group, admirers of Mussolini and even Hitler, are still in place, many in positions of power, and simply awaiting the next opportunity to seize this country and overturn Democracy.

I’ve written several posts on the subject of Fascism and the attempts to impose an authoritarian government on an unsuspecting American public so I will not bother readers with more. I am more interested in devising ways to communicate the warning signs missed by so many in the elections of recent “Republican” administrations. It is far too easy to dismiss old men like me as alarmist and “out of touch”. And, familial loyalty does not always extend itself to serious consideration of every member’s views.

Now, as I’m quickly closing in on my eighth decade I easily acknowledge that I have far more yesterdays than I do tomorrows. And I’m fine with the loss of many activities I so enthusiastically did over those decades. Some of those losses stem from the loss of strength to do them, some from the loss of physical safety in doing them, and some from the loss of interest in doing them. No more maintenance of exotic sports cars, and hurling them around; not even average car maintenance. No more bareback riding of spirited horses (I feel guilt even thinking about putting my weight, average as it is, on a horse’s back). No more home repair when it involves what are now risky or weighty tasks. I’m growing into being an old guy. The one activity I seriously miss is college teaching. Few things in life brought me the utter joy of seeing people, of all ages, blossom with excitement as they entered into new realizations which I, in some way, helped to facilitate. Undeniable medical issues tipped the ethical decision for me to withdraw from that dearly loved activity.

On communicating with the grandchildren about the increasing risks of authoritarian answers to problems which are seemingly insurmountable any other way there is an understandable voice which says, Do what you can to facilitate understanding of authoritarianism, prepare them to survive if it comes to that, and accept the reality that some things are just not within your control.

Okay. Each of them is more than demonstrating that they are unusually intelligent, and their parents are both stunningly intelligent. But is intelligence a broad enough tent to protect and empower them should an entire society veer toward the worst manifestations of social control? And who said everyone’s life is supposed to be happy? One man’s heaven is another man’s hell.

A metaphor might help: Martial artists are rigidly trained to advance in their sport against combatants who are also rigidly trained to adhere to the rules. Real fighters are flexible in their ability to recognize and overpower those who do not adhere to the rules. The past four years of chaos and turmoil in the American government, from State to federal level, awakened us to the vicious, demented motives and actions of those who feel rules apply only to others. The United States came far closer than ever before, and far closer than most people seem to realize, to losing its democracy to a totalitarian dictatorship. The neo-Fascists, masquerading as “Republicans”, are still in positions of significant power, simply awaiting their next opportunity to try again. Those of us who feel we do not live simply for our own passing pleasures must act to facilitate understanding among the generation coming of age in this most risky of times. I’ve always bristled at that phrase, productive citizen. Being an old guy doesn’t mean being unproductive. Not at all.