Bev Schellenberg
A few weeks ago, an 85-year old man driving an Oldsmobile rocketed past a police officer doing 161 in a 100 km/hr zone. He later told the officer he was going to the bank and then shopping. He was charged under the Ontario street-racing law — the oldest person to earn the honour.
Good for him. Based on Stats Canada mortality rates in 2002, he’s already exceeded the 82.2-year average life span for men who make it to 65. If he were a woman, he’d have an average of .6 of a year still to live, so male or female, he’s wise, statistically speaking, to squeeze everything he can out of life.
Like the two seniors in the current movie The Bucket List, in which Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman set out to finally do all the things they’ve always wanted to do, our 85-year old dragster is putting the pedal to the metal in more ways than one. And he’s got company in the real world. I recently heard of a 78-year old woman, a former Miss Canada, who began fencing at the age of 74, and also fits dragonboat racing into her schedule when she isn’t travelling the world.
My high school writing class students recently had a brush with that sort of just-do-it spirit. On the way to Come Share, a senior’s day drop-in facility, the students, ranging in age from 14-18, were uncharacteristically silent. After two weeks of preparation, they were ready to interview seniors face-to-face and write four-page biographies of the people they interviewed; they were prepared to contribute to Come Share’s Extraordinary Chronicles of Ordinary Lives Biography Project. They’d practiced interviewing one another and pretending they were seniors, they’d practiced eye contact and nodding their heads in encouragement. They’d practiced listening and asking probing questions. But now that it was time to meet the seniors, they were unsure of whom to expect. After all, stereotypical seniors ride around in little scooters with flags on the back and snap at teenagers, right? Or they sit around in malls and watched the world pass them by. How could young and old, with a 60-year gulf separating their life experiences, find common ground?
Then the seniors talked and the students listened, and took notes as quickly as they could. They wrote about seniors who had loved or hated math and English classes, fought with their siblings, and lived through World War Two. They documented recent hobbies, including making bracelets, dancing, lawn bowling, doing aerobics, heading off on road trips to places like Arizona, and frequenting the horse track.
They recorded the words of Burc, who reminisced about going to the beach and enjoying the sun with his wife: “You should do that every once in a while; just lay back and forget the rest of the world.” And Betty, one of the seniors, who said, “If you don’t like what you’re doing, don’t do it. Do what makes you happy.” And 90-year old Chris, who encouraged, “Go for your dreams, kids; if you aspire for something, just go for it!”
So Monday I went to my first belly-dancing lesson. I’ve been meaning to try that for years. And the teacher is a senior. Imagine that.
Anonymous says
The Extraordinary Chronicles of Ordinary Lives Biography project that brought the students and seniors together was excellent. As the Administrator at the site, I saw ages drop away and people emerge it was a growing experience for both groups.
Bev has to be commended for getting her students involved and opening the door to that wonderful culminating event where the students shared their work with the seniors.
Aside from the benefits to both groups the reason I developed the project was to get the rich history and wonderful life stories of seniors written instead of being one of those – next month projects that never get done.
The relationships, the respect and the links that developed between the two groups were truly remarkable and I sincerely hope it is repeated often.
Sue Thomson Feb 27, 2008
Diane Petersen says
Wow–déjà vu thinking or what! I’ve been retired for almost six months now and many of your ideas ring so true! In fact I wrote about it to myself — something I’d never have had time to do when I was working — and as I pondered on paper what ageing really meant, I came to very similar conclusions your student interviewees did. Lucky me, I have a way to go before I’m 90!
Singing in My Chains
by Diane Petersen
The older I become the less certain I am of what I believe. I have altered with age to the point where many of the values, which shaped my thirty some-odd working years, are mere vagaries. Like the skin which evinces my increasing years, so too have my once-strong views and authoritative attitude become less rigid and defined, and far more absorbent to other possibilities . . . . Indeed, my reflection in Johari’s window seems to gleam with most of the fifty-five adjectives in each of the quadrants at one time or other.
This enhanced perception has gradually evolved as a result of my becoming one more baby boomer collecting a pension instead of a salary. Having experienced retirement for nearly six months, I am amazed at how much time I have taken to accomplish very little! How ironic that, now when I am no longer governed by fleeting time, my employer’s farewell gift was a beautiful mantel clock. My working years were chalk-a-block full of professional and parenting-induced responsibilities; what little time was free I always focussed on home “projects” (a word my family came to fear because it meant that not only would I be striving to achieve such gargantuan tasks as laying hardwood floors or painting our living space or renovating our kitchen within a few weeks, but it was my expectation that of course they would support my goals with their time and effort!). Since both my parents lived through the Great Depression, their protestant work ethic became mine as a matter of course. Unfortunately neither of them lived long lives in retirement, so it has taken me awhile to learn what this word really means.
While definitions such as “withdrawal”, “departure” and “giving up work” are each accurate to an extent, they suggest only some aspects of retirement. Too busy working, I didn’t bone up on all the suggested pre-retirement reading and thus expected that withdrawal from employment’s regimentation would take some adjustment. Surprisingly, my departure has not left me bereft. In fact I feel remarkably buoyant now that all those duties have disappeared: I sleep longer, exercise regularly, and devote time only to what really matters to me. My family has noticed the difference in my attitude and energy level, and are amazed at my strident refusal to perform many of the very tasks which I once felt a working woman was compelled to do. At a juncture when I actually have the opportunity to focus on endeavors of choice, my choices dominate our lives far less than in the past. And so it seems that another dimension of ageing is recognizing that as my life finally becomes less frenetic, so too is my desire to do more!
Perhaps the most rewarding result of the ageing process is the realization of how little I need to feel truly happy. I appreciate the time I can give to the people and causes I care about. The hours dedicated to creating an afghan for my daughter, learning more about current issues, going out of my way to enjoy a few hours with those whose lives are still governed by schedules, taking pleasure in just being home with my husband — are moments one cannot purchase. They are, however, far more valuable than all the commodities my pay cheque once bought. How fortunate that I am able to understand that getting older is a luxury my younger self was too busy to treasure.