I had finished a game of pickleball and was standing around with a few others, who, like me, were gathered by the fence waiting for the next court to become available, when I overheard “Charlie” talking to a fellow about his in-laws. “Charlie” said his in-laws lived in a suburban housing complex that recently had erected six new pickleball courts. “Charlie” gushed how beautiful these courts were, and, as an aside, mentioned that his mother-in-law was seventy-six years old while her husband soon would be eighty. At this passing mention of their respective ages, I heard the other fellow exhale a low, audible “whew!” then proceed to commiserate with Charlie how it was a waste of good money to build brand-new courts for people too old to use or enjoy them. “Charlie” nodded his head, concurring that his father-in-law indeed was now too old to take up pickleball as a hobby.
Fast approaching seventy-three myself, I was struck by the inherent ageism of their comments. A panicked question came to mind: How would old folks like me ever survive if there were no pickleball to fill up our miserable, empty lives until creeping dotage finally overtakes us?
It is a fact that, despite a large and growing senior population, younger Americans do not venerate their elders. They complain, “Biden is too old to be President.” (Meanwhile, Trump is nearly as old!) With rare exceptions, older people hardly seem to exist in popular culture, which is geared to placate a younger demographic, except perhaps to function as an occasional comic foil or to serve as the butt of one of their jokes. In real life, age bias could mean that we are excluded from clinical medical trials or are overlooked for job promotions.
***
There is a flip side to this coin, however. A lot of research dollars are spent assessing how older people view themselves, and what this means for their health and longevity. It turns out many of us old folks don’t feel old or worn out at all, chronological age be damned!
Scientists have developed different methods for measuring these effects under the generalized rubric known as self-perceptions of aging, or “SPA” for short. For example, one such measure might ask the respondents to give their subjective opinions on how old they feel. Not surprisingly, their ages being about equal, self-assessing older people who enjoy good health tend to skew younger than their less fortunate survey counterparts.
I hadn’t thought about this much previously or in such stark, clinical terms. Yet, until nearly the end of my father’s life, I jokingly used to say to anybody who asked about his age that dad was ninety-five years old going on twenty. While twenty could have been an exaggeration, I suppose, people who knew him well would generally agree, I think, that he held the attitudes and displayed the sensibilities you associated with much younger men–this remains true even in death. Based on a lifetime of memories being his son, I also find it remarkable that he never changed much.
Because I am much like my father, I similarly perceive my “SPA” to be on the younger side. For example, unlike “Charlie’s” father-in-law, I can still learn new things.
I’ll happily admit that I am young at heart. This phenomenon can’t solely be attributed to my seemingly excellent health. However, I acknowledge that good health is a key factor.
In any case, I am glad I see myself in this light because scientific research shows identifying oneself as “young” contributes to a sense of well-being, which could translate into better health and survival. I say, “Good for me!”
I’d venture to guess that the median age among my fellow pickleballers is around forty or forty-five. There aren’t any truly young players, no budding prodigies. On any given day, I could be the oldest player. People don’t ask me; I don’t say. However, if we were meeting for the first time on the courts, you might wrongly assume I’m a decade younger than my true chronological age.
***
Fortunately, Robyn also is young at heart! It’s one of the secrets to our successful relationship.
She’ll think nothing of suggesting that we go to a neighborhood comedy club when we both realize we will stick out like somebody’s elderly grandparents among an audience, which, except for us, consists entirely of folks who are still in their twenties or thirties. I am familiar with dystopian stories, such as “Logan’s Run,” that pit young against “old.” In 1968, as a young man, I even attended a popular film called “Wild in the Streets,” based solely on the advertising tagline, “never trust anybody over 30.”
Nowadays, however, don’t dare to think that you can exclude us simply because we might appear to be over-age to your eyes!