When I look at my body, I remember where I got that scar. It was a chip from a misplaced strike of an axe. I’m lucky I still have that foot. And I’ve got crows feet at the outer edges of my eyes—or, on a good day, “laugh lines.” And I’ve got scars from surgery and bad knees and bad shoulders and white hair. And so on. Those are the reminders I carry of the engagements I have fought so far in my life.
So I got to thinking. There isn’t a system of ribbons, really, to proclaim what battles I have fought and survived. Like these.
Not all such wounds are anonymous, of course. There's this glorious promise from Shakespeare's Henry V.
"He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
“These wounds,” he will say,
“These wounds,” he will say,
“These very wounds I had the day I fought beside the king and prevailed.”
Alas, not even I know the battle where I “had” this particular wrinkle. Or how I lived so long that I earned liver spots. Or where the cartilage went that used to superintend the operation of my knee. But if I did know, how really cool would it be to show up in a gathering of old people like yourselves and look at the ribbons and recognize three commemorating childbirths, and three commemorating marathons, and one symbolizing marital fidelity in a very difficult situation, and one recognizing (not celebrating) tirelessness in prayer. I’m thinking of the man who wouldn’t let his neighbor alone until he got a sandwich to share with a guest.
A gathering like that would REALLY be a gathering, don’t you think? And any young people who strayed in would look at the battle ribbons and think, probably for the first time, how few they themselves had and maybe look forward to the engagements in their own lives when they will earn their own.
Alas, not even I know the battle where I “had” this particular wrinkle. Or how I lived so long that I earned liver spots. Or where the cartilage went that used to superintend the operation of my knee. But if I did know, how really cool would it be to show up in a gathering of old people like yourselves and look at the ribbons and recognize three commemorating childbirths, and three commemorating marathons, and one symbolizing marital fidelity in a very difficult situation, and one recognizing (not celebrating) tirelessness in prayer. I’m thinking of the man who wouldn’t let his neighbor alone until he got a sandwich to share with a guest.
A gathering like that would REALLY be a gathering, don’t you think? And any young people who strayed in would look at the battle ribbons and think, probably for the first time, how few they themselves had and maybe look forward to the engagements in their own lives when they will earn their own.
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ReplyDeleteWhen I was younger, I really didn't like the idea that someone was "better than me" just because they'd been around longer. That doesn't make you smarter, just less physically capable, I thought.
ReplyDeleteThat's pretty common thinking for a younger person, I'm sure, since you don't know what you don't know and even have a hard time imagining what, of any value, you don't know. Every kid reaches that stage, and that's when you start to think your parents (and all their friends) are complete morons.
I know better now, of course, because not only do I understand the value of what I know, but I also have a much clearer understanding of what I don't know, and what others do know, you know?
In other words, I now get the value of life experience. I have watched myself grow wiser as a result of it, and make better choices. I too have scars and wrinkles that tell stories about where I've been, and the things I've picked up along the way.
I like the idea of medals, but I like the ones nature gives us better. Those can only be earned and they can't be thrown over a well in protest.
-Doug
I thought the same thing you did when I was young, Doug, and if I could separate what I think from what I feel, I would say I still do. I still object to the idea that older people's view are more mature, say, rather than in serious decline. So many people I know have lost their nerve or been so brutalized by an experience that they have only carping left, or have picked up a grievance that they attach to every vulnerable experience. Their age has made them worse and they ought not be credited with being better.
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand, I have also, like you, acquired a sense of just how many other right ways there are to do something or to feel about it; how many ways there are to enrich what to someone with less experience would be only a sterile experience. But those are old people who can do something I can't do. I would always have respected that, had I been able to notice it.
What you reject and what I still reject is the automatic grant of superiority to someone who has no distinction except the number of days he has not died. I remember a story about a man who was 99 years old and was having a hard time will all the attention being paid to a friend of his who was 100 years old. "Shoot," he said, "all Fred did was get old and I did that faster than he did."
I so much enjoy comments from you, Doug. They are worth thinking about and they are so very well written.
Well, shoot. I deleted the first comment 'cause it had an error, but didn't see that I said "well" when I meant "wall."
ReplyDeleteI agree that what one does with his life experience determines the value of it, and I appreciate your willingness to attribute that sentiment to me even though I didn't say it. I do agree with it, though.
But as you age I do think there's a feeling of entitlement when it comes to respect. I mean, there should be some kind of up-side for all those aches and pains, right?
I really enjoy your blog when I have the chance to read it, Pop. I've been slacking a bit on both our blogs, but I'd really like to get back on track. It's a great way for us to not only communicate, but also to learn about each other as adults. Not peers, exactly, but grown-up to grown-up maybe.
-Doug