Our bodies may age but inside we’re still young and vibrant
MY long gone and much missed Auntie Doris, ruminating on life as she neared 90, said wistfully: “You know, inside I’m still 18.” People who had lived through the Second World War as adults, serving in the forces or on the Home Front, seemed to age quicker than the generation that followed. But post-war we had peace, rock and roll, the Beatles, Carnaby Street and opportunities.
Pre-war life was harder, there was no National Health Service, and tradition dictated working class girls would get married and have a family and boys would embrace maturity with a three piece suit and an apprenticeship. If they were lucky.
I’m now at an advanced age and, like Auntie Doris, still feel young inside, although more 28 than 18. But is it acceptable behaviour for someone who will be 80 next year to wear a leather jacket? Are Reebok trainers okay instead of wellies?
It is an unfortunate fact that we physically change as we get older and, as a result, become invisible to younger generations we pass in the street.
A small benefit is that we are often treated protectively, whether we wish to be or not. When querying a water bill on the telephone, a young lady looked after me as if helping me across the road, and, in these Covid days, supermarket assistants invariably say: “And you take care of yourself, love,” as if talking to an endangered species.
What younger people don’t understand is that the older generation continue to carry inside, the exciting memories of teenage years, the birth of a youth culture that continues to thrive, the vibrancy of their 20s and 30s, and the full experience of life in all its ambiguities, while being only too aware they may now be viewed as concessionary passengers on the periphery of mainstream living, even if they do wear a leather jacket and Reeboks.
They are only remembered in their pomp when they die and a photograph from their youth is sometimes placed in a prominent position at their funeral, to remind mourners of who they were and the person they had once been. I decided not to wait for that accolade.
Which is why I’ve had photographs of my wife Maria and myself, that were taken when we were young, transferred to canvas. The portraits line the wall of the living room to remind visitors, our kids and grandkids of who we were. This is not an act of arrogance or ego but an attempt to reclaim our identities.
That’s us in the Swinging 60s, living life to the full. And that’s who we still are, believe it or not, beneath an ageing exterior.
Is it acceptable behaviour for someone who will be 80 next year to wear a leather
jacket?