Discovering the advantages of growing old

I don’t like getting old. This could just be me. Perhaps I’m missing something. Whenever I mention my dislike of growing old to some oldies I often get advice which suggests I have to be grateful for having a back that aches when I bend over or that I should embrace the fact that I get breathless when climbing the stairs or I’m told that grey hair suits me. I’m even told that I should celebrate every year because after all I’m a year older and that instead of wishing I was younger I should take advantage of the hidden benefits of being old. What benefits I ask? It would appear that hidden is the right word to describe these benefits.

I have yet to be convinced that there is any silver lining to getting old or that life begins at 73. Some of these oldies even tell me that the seventies or eighties are the best years of their lives. Their golden years. They tell me this as they grip their walking stick or Zimmer frame just a little more tightly. I look at them with disbelief. I think that if these are their golden years they must have had a fairly rough life when they were teenagers or in their twenties. I had a great time when I was young and for some reason being 73 doesn’t quite cut it for me.

I refuse to celebrate birthdays but my family insist on celebrating them for me. Every year when that dreaded day approaches I try to explain that I can see nothing to celebrate since my aching back has got worse and that I now have to take pills to lower my blood pressure, to lower my cholesterol and I can no longer eat my favourite snacks since my blood glucose level has become dangerously high. My rational arguments fall on deaf ears and I am supplied on that day of dubious celebration with ever more shower gel and after-shave lotion. Perhaps they are trying to tell me something. I have to change my reading glasses every six months and I am finding it difficult to find reading glasses that are powerful enough. I passed grade 4 in reading glasses last year. Possibly the most annoying, no the most infuriating, comment that is made in response to my negative statements about getting old is — always made by someone at least 30 years younger than me of course — “age is just a number.” Now I might be getting senile but I do know what a number is. My reply is “fine, you have my number and I’ll have yours.” So far no takers. Those who make this comment should take note that oldies have been known to use their walking sticks as a weapon.

But take heart. Being an oldie means that you can get away with things that as a youngster were impossible. You can tell someone they are an idiot to their face and far from being offended they smile indulgently and don’t take you seriously. Mention that you have sciatica when you have a flat tyre on your car and people queue up to change the tyre for you. At the supermarket check-out or furniture store just whimper ever so slightly and place your hand on your lower back and someone will quickly pick up your purchases and put them in your car for you. You’re doing them a favour as they walk away feeling they’ve done their good deed for the day.

But here’s the best not such a hidden benefit — at any airport when they see you staggering along with your walking stick they’ll put you in a wheelchair and whizz you past all the other passengers and if you’re lucky might even upgrade you to Business Class. Just hold your back with both hands and with a pained look on your face mention that in Economy you find those hard seats agonising. So for all my fellow oldies I have one bit of advice: when someone offers to carry your luggage or insists that you go to the head of any queue smile sweetly and take advantage of the offer even if you’ve just completed your tenth marathon run that month.