WHAT’S WRONG WITH ‘OLD’?

The management at a dear friend’s assisted care facility just informed her that she would have to move from her ground floor apartment to one on another floor. Why? Because her floor was to become a ‘memory care community.’

“What on earth is a memory care community?” I asked. In short, a floor (or wing, or facility) dedicated to treating (or warehousing?) people suffering from dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. I suppose it’s no longer proper to refer to such places as an Alzheimer’s wing or the section for patients with dementia.

So it goes in the land of politically correct euphemisms. As Susan Jacoby points out in her new book ‘Never Say Die,’ we dare not say the word ‘old.’ Old is out. Senior is in. Erectile Dysfunction is in. Impotence is out.

At the risk of sounding tedious, try these: infant is OK. So is toddler. Pre-teen works. As do teen-ager, youthful, and twenty-somethings. But as age creeps upward, the language shifts: Don’t utter middle-aged. Proper usage calls for ‘mid-life.’

Even the marketing gurus at ‘Elder Hostel’ have re-branded their venerable organization ‘Road Scholar.’

When it comes to our ‘twilight years’ (sorry), be careful. Something in our psyche flashes yellow and says: “Warning! Watch your language.”

Think about it: Why do we feel compelled to tiptoe around words associated with aging? Sooner or later all of us are going to be old. So, what’s wrong with using the most direct word to describe that stage of life?

Let’s hear from you: Why do you think we shun words about being old when we have no compulsion to re-name other stages of life?
Sig

BECOMING INVISIBLE

“I did it to make them notice me.” The 80-something gentleman’s blunt confession took me by surprise. Paul was explaining why, without warning, he’d closed the joint bank account he had with his only son James, while James and his family were on vacation. (Names changed.)

James discovered this when he tried to pay taxes on their jointly-owned beach house, as previously agreed. When James demanded to know what was up, his dad said, “Talk to my lawyer,” and hung up.

Things swiftly careened downhill. Paul’s lawyer persuaded him to sue James to get his name off the deed. James counterclaimed for half the rent money that, up to then, both parties had regarded solely as his Dad’s.

Now they glared at each other across a mediation table with me.

James was hurt and puzzled by his father’s behavior. He’d never misused the bank account. When Paul was sick and hospitalized he wanted James to handle his finances.  But as he recovered he began to resent his loss of control. Rent checks in both names came to James (who duly deposited them in the joint account). Bank statements came to James. When Paul had called the property manager to question a plumber’s bill, she’d said, “I deal with your son. Ask him.”

As we age, we not only shrink physically but also may fade from other’s awareness. We retire, and soon nobody calls us for advice. If we get sick or lack the energy to go out we can easily become isolated and lonely. Family and friends don’t mean to abandon us – but until there’s a crisis we just vanish from their thoughts. Clerks ignore us. Waitresses speak to us like children.  We feel as if we’re disappearing.

By closing the bank account, Paul was making a plea—one he couldn’t bring himself to make directly. “Look at me, Son! Listen to me! I can still make decisions. I can still think. I’m not helpless. I’m not invisible!”

In the mediation, they heard each other. An escrow account solved the legal problem. Feelings would take longer, but both wanted to reconcile. Paul admitted he shouldn’t have closed the account without talking to his son. James saw that he’d been insensitive to his Dad’s need for autonomy. They agreed to have dinner together once a week and to share honestly whatever was on their minds – even if it would require a tough conversation.

Carolyn

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