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FIND A FRIEND
WHO'S OLDER THAN YOU
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I visited an old friend at his nursing home the other day. He
is 93 and nearing the end of his decorated, incredibly successful life. His
eyes are tired, he doesn't hear well, and he shuffles around in a walker.
He was delighted to see me and I was delighted to see him, not
only because he's a wonderful man, but because he makes me feel young in
comparison.
Men or women who hang out with younger crowds have it all
wrong. The secret to feeling young is hanging around people much older than
you. And there's always someone older than you.
I first realized this when my mother was still alive (she died three
years ago) and I'd visit her regularly at her retirement home. It was my
personal fountain of youth, the only place where I could feel like a kid
again.
I would wander into our kitchen on the morning of one of our
lunches, and my wife would immediately know what was going on.
"Hmmm. Nice slacks, button-down shirt, sport coat, dress
shoes," she would always say as she sized me up. "Either you've
got a date with a floozy or you're having lunch with your mother
again."
I would ignore her, take a quick glance in the mirror to make
sure I looked decent enough to impress anyone over 80, and then scoot out
the door.
When my mother first moved to her retirement home many years
ago, it was a little depressing to see her among people moving at such a
deliberate pace, if they were moving at all. But I quickly got over it,
helped by the fact that she was only in her 80's, far younger and spryer
than most of her co-habitants.
As for me, I was a veritable spring chicken in comparison. My
mother would introduce me to her new girlfriends, and they would inevitably
say what a fine young, strapping boy she had, even though it was far from
the truth.
Over the years, my mother might have aged a bit, but apparently
I didn't. I was still getting the same compliments, and I would always look
forward to having another vigorous lunch. I was feeling the aches and pains
of aging, and I needed a fix.
I would meet my mother in the elegant lobby of her high-rise
retirement home in San Francisco. Out of the corner of my eye, I would
notice a couple of 90 year-olds watching admiringly as I kissed my mother
hello.
We would walk across the lobby to the dining room, my mother's
arm in mine. We confidently strode past the canes and walkers parked at the
door, and majestically entered the spacious eating area. As the host took us
to our table, I would smile and nod to a lovely woman of about 95, who would
smile back ever so sweetly.
While most of the residents were women, there were some men
milling around. But the geezers were no competition for me. They were old
and I was not. I would ignore them as I walked through, and they would
ignore me.
I remember arriving at our table and I would always pull the
chair out for my mother to sit. This made no sense, since lunch was always a
buffet, so we had to get right back up again. But her friends would be
impressed by my strength and chivalry.
Walking to the salad bar, my mother would inevitably stop to
introduce me to a woman who had just moved in. The woman I particularly
remember was in her early 80's, a little close for comfort but still just
old enough to make me feel young.
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it with all her might and then
turned to my mother. "My, your son is sooooooo handsome!" she
squealed. "You must be so proud!"
My mother would nod happily, not caring a bit about whether the
comment was true or not, and we continued our trek to the salad bar. I
nodded and waved to a few more sweet women on the way.
I felt like a little kid again. By the time we'd paraded across
the dining room for our main course and then dessert, all my aches and pains
were gone.
Now both my parents are gone, and there is no one left to make
me feel like a kid. My 93 year old friend is helping, though, and I
definitely appreciate his effort. I'm sure there's a couple of 97 year olds
who are doing the same for him.
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