If we walk long enough along our path through the garden of life we attain a status known as geriatric. The world, and how we cope with it, changes over time and many of us resist the changes required of us to maintain the lifestyle to which we’ve become accustomed and prefer. We become unable to do things as easily as we once could and must expend extra mental energy to perform tasks that were automatic. What we once did well becomes that which we can do adequately at best. C’est La Vie.
As one of those who’s passed the “Welcome to Geezertown” city limit signpost, I can authoritatively warn the whippersnappers of what’s to come and commiserate with my comrades about life in the Blue Hair Lane. Those of us who survive in our newly found aged lifestyle, and even thrive in it, have necessarily adopted a laissez-faire attitude regarding the obstacles thrown in our way. We found early on that complaining about our arms being too short for reading, our bladder being too small for a full night’s sleep and our hearing acuity too weak for normal television viewing does nothing but irritate anyone who hears us and most certainly does not result in any appreciable change in the status quo. Eyesight can sometimes be improved by a visit to the optometrist, but bitching about the size of the print on a ketchup bottle will not get Heinz to change their labels. We know this but bitching is one of the basic human rights of geezers and we intend to exercise it fully.
By the way; the term “Geezer” is offensive to some of us. It can be a derogatory term, depending on the intent of the speaker. Some of us, on the other hand, wear the term as a badge of honor. We survived the sixties without becoming addicted to drugs and we didn’t lose our hearing by listening to that acid rock that some called music. We walked ten miles to school every day even in snowstorms - uphill both ways and the only calculator we had was our fingers and toes. We remember how to put ink in a writing instrument and how to author a letter without a keyboard. We even know the meaning of the word: Cursive.
So, if someone refers to me as a geezer without being overtly disrespectful I’m not going to get “triggered” over it. If I hear something like “I wish that old geezer would get out of the way so I can get my soy latte and be gone.” I’ll ask he/she/it to explain the basis on which the law of “first come - first served” should not apply and why they think there’s a “minimum speed” limit in the check-out line. I have enough trouble defending against the Geezer Monster to waste energy fighting the millennial Karens.
Speaking of Geezer Monster; he’s the guy - a superannuated leprechaun - who pops up out of nowhere to remind us of our inability to fully compensate for mother nature’s assault on our status quo. The Geezer Monster lurks invisibly in the back seat of our car whispering in our ear about the wonderful time we had with Sally down by the lake back in ‘72 while we change lanes on the freeway without using the turn signal. Who the hell can think about the blinker when he’s trying to remember the color of Sally’s bathing suit? The cop that pulled me over should have asked about Sally instead of that damned blinker if he wanted a relevant answer.
On the way out of the subdivision, in a hurry to meet with other members of the tribe, the Geezer Monster will speak up from the back seat telling me that my bladder is full and that it is entirely possible my weakened bladder sphincter is not strong enough for the trip. This is a serious calamity because it not only requires a U-turn at the subdivision entrance - which is embarrassing if there are witnesses, a delay in my arrival at the Geezer Brotherhood Meeting - with related hazing for tardiness, and “The Look” from my wife who reminds me that I didn’t make a precautionary piss call before I left the house.
At the shooting range, I had to disassemble a gun to make a minor adjustment - a very basic procedure I’ve done many times and should be able to do blindfolded. I know that I should perform this maneuver while holding the gun over a table - to catch parts that I might drop - but the Geezer Monster jumped out and batted a few away. Being aware of my geriatric infirmities, I watched the parts carefully as they fell to the ground so I could easily retrieve them. I saw exactly where they landed. When I bent over to retrieve the parts only one of the two was there. One of my geriatric comrades was observing from a few feet away and said he had seen the parts fall and that he kept his eye on the one I did not pick up so it could easily be retrieved next. We both examined the spot on the ground where the part should have been but found nothing but rocks and twigs. We looked for a long time to no avail. Thank God Karen wasn’t waiting on us to finish so she could pay for her latte. A little while later I happened to look down at my belt buckle and noticed something awry. The lost gun part was lodged in my belt. I’m sure I heard the Geezer Monster giggling in the shadows.
I might wake up and go running or I might wake up to find that I’ve won the lottery. The Geezer Monster says the odds are about the same.
I frequently forget to take my meds at dinnertime so I set an alarm on my cell phone to remind me. When the alarm goes off, the Geezer Monster sometimes shuts it off before I can remember what the alarm is for. The embarrassing part is that every time that happens my wife asks a little while later if I remembered to take my pills. I’d suffer less from the missing meds than from the ignominy of having to let her know that I’ve screwed up again.
The Geezer Monster is an insidious beast. He lurks patiently in the shadows waiting for an opportunity to wreak havoc on our efforts to maintain something like a reasonable lifestyle. On top of the fact that we geriatrics have to exert extra effort to get by in this world designed for whippersnappers, the Geezer Monster impedes our efforts to implement prosthetic protocols. He is a mean one.
So, Karen, cut us some slack! Not only do we fight varying degrees of dimwittedness, blindness, incontinence, deafness, and social injustice on a daily basis, but we fight The Geezer Monster for every inch of normalcy we find.
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