I may not be young, but don’t call me old

PleAse don’t remInd me oF my AGe At every turn, Alice Lukacs says.

“Did you notice how everyone has changed since last year?” my friend Bea asked. It was the first get-together in a year for our group of friends, all seniors. Bea had only to look in the mirror to see how she herself has changed. But the rest of our group had also undergone noticeable deterioration — more wrinkles here, a bent back there, thinned-down frames, newly acquired canes.

I’ve changed, too. Lately, I have noticed how my gait has slowed down. I have lost a considerable amount of weight. Since last year, too, little black spots have popped up on my forehead and my hearing has deteriorated.

I could go on and on with my list of troubles, but what I want to say is this: I am not an “old” person, so don’t label and treat me as such. I am not an “elderly” person. Sure, I am no longer a “young ” or “middle-aged” person, either. But I don’t want to belong to any category. First and foremost I am, just like you, simply a person.

So please, don’t remind me of my age at every turn. When I enter a bus, don’t jump up from your seat, as though stung by a wasp.

On the other hand, don’t hide your face behind a tablet, either, when I stand right in front of you.

You know, I still am, more or less, who I always was. Thank the Good Lord, my memory is functioning. I still like to argue, and am curious about the world around me. I still love reading, though nowadays often with the help of a tablet that enlarges print. I like to be up on the latest news. I still want to look fashionable, nicely made up and coiffed. I still like to check out new offerings in the stores, though these days mostly in food stores.

If you can, give me a sincere compliment once in a while that has nothing to do with age, as does that lovely young woman who lives in my building. Whenever we meet, she never fails to compliment me, praising something about my appearance, or simply exclaiming, “you look fabulous!” That really makes my day.

Don’t give me any special treatment, unless I ask for it. Involve me in the conversation, just as you would someone your own age, so I can voice my opinion on a given subject. I might just have the answer, but you must ask me the question first!

Another thing: please don’t ask me how old I am. That also goes for fellow seniors, who like to check out each other’s ages. Complete strangers have stopped to ask me my age, or encouraged me to “keep on walking, it’s good for you,” on my daily strolls. My late cousin, also unwilling to disclose her age, had the perfect solution: “Can you keep a secret?” she would ask the person wishing to know her age. When the answer was “yes,” her reply would be “So can I.”

Case closed.

And so can I, folks. My age is not your business. A friend, who just turned 90, advertises her age with pride. So far, I am not in her corner.

We all have our aches and pains, but let’s not dwell on them. I know our “senior conversations” these days evolve mostly around health issues, tests, blood pressures and visits to clinics and hospitals. While we can, let’s just celebrate being alive.

In this, I am with the great Hungarian poet Endre Ady, who wrote in one of his poems (in my free translation):

Whoever is alive, should be joyful,

For life comes to everyone, As an exceptional, sacred joy.