Upward oldies

FORGET the reassurances, old age is anything but a barrel of laughs.

There are early signs you are on that slippery slope. Wrinkles, creases and crow’s feet, John Howard eyebrows with a mind of their own, a rapidly receding hairline compensated by luxurious growth in your ears (some trade off!) and aches you never thought possible.

If among the lucky ones, you would have been free of ailments save a minor operation or two and the occasional chat to your GP. But as the years zipped by, healthrelated appointments — doctor, dentist, optometrist, audiologist, physiotherapist — became more regular than coffee catch-ups

You don’t dwell on the future, though. Ignorance is bliss — for a time. Then …. whack, it hits you!

In my case, it was the simple act of giving my name for a takeaway pick-up. The young man taking the phone order wrote Graym on the receipt, the second time he scribbled Gream, then Greyham. Yes, takeaway should be eaten in moderation but we were on holidays after all and the food was a cracker.

It eventually dawned on me (the brain now takes longer to register) a Christian name like Graeme would be alien to millennials and GenZs — much like Terry, Gary, Judy or Gail that were all the rave back when.

Ironically, I experience similar confusion when reading the names of the current crop of newborns.

Not wishing to be disrespectful, but they are a constant source of wonder and amusement. While there is a smattering of timeless classics, many poor little tots have been handed weird monikers that no one other than their parents know how to spell or pronounce.

But who cares what we Baby Boomers think? Most youngsters (that’s anyone under 30) regard us as walking fossils responsible for every world calamity from time immemorial.

Except social media. That scourge reared its ugly head around the 1990s, well after we popped ours out in the maternity ward.

My somewhat jaundiced view is that this “revolution in human connection” has become an obsession, breeding narcissism and bullying and killing face-to-face communication. And don’t start me on those forced smiles, pouting lips and ridiculous poses called selfies.

Of course, senior citizens too have some very peculiar idiosyncrasies. We are impatient, particularly waiting for an offshore call centre to answer the phone, are annoyed by people who would not know good manners if you tattooed one on their forehead and are irritated by motorists who tailgate while you enjoy a Sunday drive around town mid-week.

Our trust in our politicians disintegrated years ago, we mourn the death of respect, believe law and order has gone to hell, see the justice system as a defender of the offender and treat declarations such as “customers are our No.1 priority” with total contempt! There is an upside, though. We receive a handful of free travel passes each year, are eligible for retail discounts and, if we are lucky, are offered a seat by a kind young person on a Geelong train packed tighter than sardines in a John West can.

During the pandemic, we have had our own supermarket hour to shield us from greedy hoarders (how many toilets rolls and packets of pasta does one need?) and occasionally the government throws titbits to its senior citizens to boost their meagre pensions, just like Joh Bjelke-Petersen did with information when “feeding the chooks” at his media conferences.

The few cents are welcome nonetheless and, hey, there’s no point whingeing because politicians are doing it tough too. They are ‘forced’ to accept regular salary increases granted by some independent tribunal and, during this pandemic, are being subjected to intense public pressure to take pay cuts like most of the population. An outrageous suggestion obviously, because they are holding out. Talk about strong resolve and leadership.

But oldies are a hardy lot. They get on with life, rarely complain (please ignore the previous) and have great faith in today’s well-educated young people to make the world a better place.

And with 3.8 million Australians, or 15 per cent of the population, over 65 years of age and rising, we have no intention of being shelved just yet. Even if we do have some rather strange habits.

Graeme Vincent is a former Geelong Advertiser editor.