Respected People?

The other day at breakfast, I had a conversation with an older colleague at the ranch that left me dumbfounded. We were discussing employment opportunities and resumes. He mentioned that in his day, people often attached a picture to their resumes (still common practice in China, Spain, and other countries). He said he preferred this method because it gave a face to an application and said something about the person in how he/she presented him/herself in the photo. He cited one instance where a man in his 60's was automatically dismissed as a candidate because of his age.

"We knew he could only give us two or three years. What was the point?"
I asked him, "Well, how do you feel about that now that you're in your 60's?"
He responded, "Well, I wouldn't hire me either."
"What?" I asked, shocked. "How can you say that? You're an expert in your field!"
"I don't feel I have much to offer...I get tired."
"Everyone gets tired," I said.
He continued, "The only reason I got this job is because I knew a friend. You know what I can do because you've seen me. An employer wouldn't know that. I'm okay because I have a good retirement, but other people have a hard time."

Did I mention that this is the same horse whisperer I wrote about in my last post, "Cowbells?" The same man who was a dean at a prominent university for 20+ years. The same man who has taught every single person that has crossed his path (much less seen him with a horse) about gentleness. This same man felt he didn't have much to offer. How is this possible?

It got me thinking about American society and our values as it relates to age. Why are we undervaluing our wisdom keepers? The elderly are the ones who have lived history, not just read about it on Wikipedia. They have experienced death and life. Loss and love. Sadness and happiness. I am not professing that all elderly have wisdom or that young people lack it, but even if times have changed since my grandmother (almost 99-years-old) was a girl, universal truths transcend generations.

In high school, I frequented a local nursing home. I started going to fulfill a school community service requirement, and it was that first Saturday that I met Eva (pronounced Eve-a). She was in her 80's, always had a smile, and told me about how she couldn't wait to meet her husband again one day in heaven. I continued to go even after I fulfilled the requirement because of Eva and her roommate, Mama Jackson. Every time I came, Eva's entire being would light up. I would navigate her around the pee-smelling halls of that nursing home as she would happily exclaim, "You're like my granddaughter!"

I remembered her smile after I learned she had a stroke. My dad took me to visit her one morning in the hospital at 7:00 am before school. He waited in the car, while I went to find her. As I approached the help desk in my uniform, I noticed that the ward had a distinct, sterile smell. A nurse showed me to her room, and there was Eva, a shadow of the person I had known. No one was with her. She appeared to be sleeping, so I came back out, not wanting to disturb her. "Go on, honey," she said. "You can talk to her. She can hear you."

I held her limp hand and cried, telling her all I was grateful for, all that she had given me, and how I would never forget her. "I love you, Eva." She died a few days later. I was 15.

The receptionist at the nursing home knew me well. Mama Jackson died some months later. I kept going, knowing that some days the person I was visiting wouldn't know me. Some days she would be upset or angry, depressed. These people were mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, widows, and there were few times I saw any other visitors. They felt forgotten and unseen. All their lessons, all their stories, all their experiences were tucked away in some old scrap book or corner of their memory. I gave what I hoped someone would give me: his/her time and an ear to listen.

老师 (lao shi) in Mandarin means "teacher." The 老 (lao) in front means "old." Chinese people place this character before something that is valued or respected. An old person is called 老人 (lao ren), literally "old/respected person/people."

I write this post, not to point to a "right" or "wrong" way of doing things, but as an invitation for discussion and reflection on how we treat different age groups in our society. There are always multiple factors when it comes to employment opportunities, nursing homes, and family dynamics. I honestly don't know what I would do if faced with a parent in that situation. As always, feel free to comment on any of my posts, but I extend a special request for comments on this one about your ideas and feelings on this topic. How do you feel elderly are treated in the U.S.? Is agism a relevent problem and if so, in what way? How would you like to be treated at your parents' or grandparents' age? What does "old" mean to you?

Thank you for listening.