You may think that exposing your kids to our older generations is a good idea, and in many respects you would be right. If you have a great set of Grandparents, why not spend time with them? The same goes for older neighbors who, instead of yelling at your kids to get off their grass, come over for a chat and actually know your children’s names.
Unfortunately, I’m finding lately that the above mentioned older people are the minority. Why do I feel this way? I can chalk it up to my experience with three different people over the age of 65, in which I found that 2 out of 3 of them were really mean and grouchy. I’ve taken statistics, and this qualifies as a decent random sample considering that these were casual encounters and not someone I went looking for.
It was a sunny day. The one warm, sunny April day that our town had had all month long, and I was determined to get out and enjoy it. Walking down the street from our house, we entered a farmer’s field and proceeded to lightly ride our bikes up and down the grassy knolls.
Ten minutes later, with my husband far enough out of ear shot to not have a clue as to what was going on, I received a verbal tongue lashing the likes of which I had never encountered in my life. And I’m from Saskatchewan, the land of the “F” word as used as a part of every day conversation.
Apparently, the neighbors of this field don’t like it when people enter the field and disturb their tranquil days. Even though said people that were in the field at that time had permission permission from the farmer.
The most ludicrous accusation that came willy nilly out of his mouth was that my family was the cause of rising milk prices, because we were ripping up a working hay farm. The most offensive bit he spewed? Let’s just say that the words he used were brought to you by the letter ‘C’ and the letter ‘W’, and that they while they named parts of the anatomy, they certainly weren’t family friendly.
I was offended, but what irked me most was that a.) It was none of his business that we were there because it was not his field, and b.). He swore at me in front of my kids. I did not retaliate, and walked home to have a good weep over what my children witnessed as well as a general hopelessness that old people would ever be as friendly as Walt Disney appeared to be.
That was several weeks ago. I chalked that incident up to him being pathetic and unhappy, all the while plotting my purchase of that farm in order to open up a commune for dirt bikes everywhere.
Today, I encountered another grouchy older person. She sat on the grass in a crowd of people, and couldn’t figure out why she was unable to hear what the people were saying at a MayDay parade speech. Shushing and barking at the people surrounding her, she basically created a scene without getting up off her butt to actually help herself. I restrained myself from telling her to be quiet, because I believe in teaching my children to respect others even when it is apparent that others are not being respectful. Apparently, she has yet to hear that classic fable that states you can catch more bears with honey than salt. Or however that goes. I think if you tried to catch a bear with salt, he’d probably eat you, but that’s just me.
This was strike two for the older generation this month.
As I was two for two, I didn’t have a lot of faith that I would come across anyone who would be remotely kind for any reason. You begin to lose your faith in humanity, especially when someone who is supposed to be a role model is so overtly mean. My third encounter with the elderly happened when I was running.
He was standing on his lawn as I trotted past, ear phones firmly in place. He motioned to me to take out my earphones them out, which I did somewhat reluctantly. After the verbal assault from the non-owner of the farmer’s field, I felt sick at what this guy possibly had in store.
“How far do you run?” he asked.
“10 km”, I said, still wondering why he was asking. I hadn’t stepped on his lawn or anything, had not kicked his rocks or knocked down his statues. I had no idea why he was talking to me.
“Everyday?” he asked, smiling at me now.
“Every other day.” I smiled back. Please don’t let him call me something I’ve never heard of, I thought.
“Good for you.” He nodded at me and waved. “That’s something to be proud of.”
I actually stood there for a moment while nodding back, smiling for real now. And in that moment I felt so grateful that someone had not taken their bad day out on me. More specifically, I felt even better that certain someone was over the age of 65 and was actually nice. It gave me hope. And I remain hopeful on a daily basis that I will encounter another nice person, no matter what their age.