Elderly people are not attractive in the conventional definition of attractive. And often, it is difficult to look at them as people. They have shriveled up bodies that function less efficiently than that of a person half their age - which might be 45. Or in my dad's case, 46.
It is easy to become impatient with the elderly. They move so slowly. It requires great effort for them to simply get from point A to point B. They are often fully aware of their frailties, which is a hard fact for anyone to face.
None of us wants to be frail. None of us wants to fall prey to the whims of an aging body.
I'm terrified of aging. I'm terrified of watching my friends' bodies break down and being unable to do anything to ease their suffering. I'm terrified of watching my own body break down, rendering me useless. I'm terrified of reaching a point where I cannot live any sort of life that matters. I am terrified of becoming irrelevant. I dread the day that I am the source of another person's impatience and ridicule.
My dad's band played tonight at a Baptist Church in Lewisville, North Carolina. And that is how I happened to find myself surrounded by elderly people. My dad begins his concerts with The Star Spangled Banner. Everyone stands, places their hand over their heart or salutes, and sings along. I stood but I did not place my hand over my heart. I did not sing along. My mom did. And after the song ended, we sat down together and I noticed my mom was crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she couldn't stop thinking about all of the poor people who had been shot this weekend. As I listened to her, I wondered about the deeply ingrained racism present in the elderly white folks at this Baptist Church in Lewisville, North Carolina. They might condemn the terrorist attacks in El Paso and Dayton without acknowledging them as such. They might also think, like our current president, that immigrants should be sent back to their countries.
I noticed a black woman sitting by herself.
The racism that is in the blood of white people runs so deep that we don't even notice it. Of course we're all going to say "I'm not racist!" Because we don't see it. We don't see that we walk by the black woman in the church and do not ask if we may sit with her. Even though the rest of the pews are filled. It just doesn't occur to us. And then there are the people who approach the black woman afterwards to make an effort to seem friendly. It is done in a manner similar to talking to a little child who might feel left out. A black person left out of a white person's club. It is so sweet of you to come to our white person club! We are so glad to have you visit! You can visit all you like, of course. But the unspoken reality is: you know you'll never be a member.
I wonder about the youth who committed the terrorist attacks this weekend. Two men, boys really, in their twenties. They ruined so many people's lives. They ruined their own lives. Does the El Paso shooter have any real sense of his failure as a human being? Is his conscience completely annihilated by hate-filled propaganda?
I look at the elderly people who are still living and wonder how they feel about this privilege of living as a white person in America: the privilege that allows them to reach a ripe old age of 86, 90, 100.
I just don't know what to think about this life that we are living. I think one of the reasons there are so many mass shootings in America is that white people here are experiencing something of a spiritual void. We've lost a reverence for life and all its wonder. We've lost the capacity for Joy. We've lost the ability to experience magic.. This lack of wonder, this lack of joy, this lack of love for ourselves and our neighbors will kill us. How do we begin to teach people to love and respect their lives?
Later in the evening, I sat across the table from some of these elderly people at the Baptist Church in Lewisville, NC of whom I was afraid. For all the various reasons delineated above. And I began to talk to them. I listened to their stories. They asked me questions about my life. We shared jokes and laughter over homemade ice cream. And it was a good time.
As I was leaving, my dad linked his arm with mine to steady himself as he took deliberate steps towards the door. A man stopped my dad and told him that he has a great sense of humor. He said, "You keep your sense of humor! It will take you far. A good joke is the shortest distance between two different opinions." I felt like he'd been eavesdropping on my mind.
Similarly, one of the elderly men at the Baptist Church in Lewisville, North Carolina told me that I, like my dad, had a good sense of humor, and that I could be a stand-up comedian. I doubt that that's true, but it's a nice thought. I'd like to be able to bridge the great divides of the people in this country with a joke. What a gift that would be!
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