So here I sit in squalor of my own making, doing things I'd rather do than rise from squalor.
I just sent this message to Jon Carroll:
Dear Jon Carroll,
I was telling my Columbia High School Class of 1964 that one thing I like about
growing old is that now when I behave in the strange ways I've always behaved,
people attribute it to my age. But I
understand that you're not talking about being senile. You're talking about being old.
So here's something good about that! A few months ago I got on a crowded L-Car
with the man I call my meque (mejor que un esposo), who's from Nicoya, Costa Rica, where people live to be 100
although my meque is only in his late seventies. We stood over two very young people who
remained seated in the Disabled-Senior Citizens seats, and a friendly exchange followed:
Me: (very politely) Excuse me.
Are you disabled?
Young man: (sounding a little bit puzzled) No.
Me: Are you over sixty-five?
Young man: (still
sounding puzzled) No. (Then sounding
less puzzled) Would you like to sit
down?
Me: Thank you!
Then as my meque and I took their seats (really, by law, ours), I thanked them again
and said, "I want you to look forward to growing old."
That day I was prompted mostly by feeling tired, but I've had
similar exchanges with other young people since then, and so far no one has
gotten out a gun and shot me for being uppity.
But I did have a dream about that
happening when I tried to get a seat for my father, who would be 101 if he were
living outside my dreams, and someone did just that.
I don't think of this as my Rosa Parks act. I'm a privileged white woman who doesn't even
have to take the street car if I'd rather drive, and Rosa Parks kept her seat
instead of demanding one. But I still
think it's nice to celebrate being old and giving young people something to
look forward to.
Your old reader,
Tina Martin
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