Too old? Too
old? Too old for what?
Sriani
Basnayake
What is the vital transition/cut-off point between late
middle age and old age? When is a person classified as “old”? Is the Biblical
definition of three score years and ten, still applicable in a world where we
see Presidents and Prime Ministers in their 80s, and who are still “batting”
on?
These thoughts have been circulating through my brain these
last few weeks, ever since my dear daughter (hereafter referred to as DD) and
son-in-law (SIL) have rubbed it into me that I am now too old for most of the
routine mundane things of life.
I didn’t grow old gracefully, but the stark fact that I was
now “old” hit me with such force……like a slinger from Lasith Malinga. I was
clean bowled. A few weeks ago DD and SIL came home and declared that as I was
nearly 72 years of age, I was too old to work, and that I should forthwith give
notice to the Executive Director (ED) and Managing Director (MD) of the Family
Planning Association (FPA) that I would not be doing any locum work from the
end of the current month. I was told to relax, enjoy life and to channel my
failing energies towards helping the Church and concentrate on God’s work
etc……….in preparation I suppose to getting a few additional Brownie points from
St Peter when I reach the Pearly Gates. I asked my children whether all this
preparation was due to the fact that I had now entered the “departure lounge”,
only to be told by my SIL that I had still not received my “boarding pass”.
Hubby was a bit surprised by all this, but was non-committal on this issue.
On my way to work on my last day at the FPA’s Clinic, I
casually mentioned to my driver that I would not be going to the clinic again,
as I was finally retiring. The poor man
got such a shock that he nearly went off the road. He made a long speech on the
necessity of reconsidering my decision and the value of keeping my brain active
etc….etc… I think he was more worried about the possibility of losing his job,
for his sole occupation for the day was driving me to the clinic and back, as hubby
felt that I was “too old” to drive! I got my driving license at age 18, and
after driving around for 50+ years, the old lady could not be trusted with the
car, and needed to be chauffeur driven. My driving skills were further
challenged by my dear nephew (DN) next door, who while being driven by me to
the hospital to consult his doctor, inquired “Loku Amma, are you driving a car
after a long long time?” This was a very polite way of informing yours truly
that my driving was atrocious!
Within a day or two of the initial shock of realising that I
was now “too old”, I was asked to babysit my little grand nephew Thusheen, to
which I readily agreed. This time my hubby joined my DD, and they came down on
me like a ton of bricks, saying that I was far too old to undertake any babysitting,
that I definitely would not be able to run behind a one year old, and that I
had no experience in looking after babies, (DD forgot that she was once a one
year old!) and what if an emergency occurred etc….etc…. I am sure that my niece
would have been very confident in having a fully qualified (though rusty)
doctor as a babysitter, even though my agility and mobility were limited. As my
babysitting appointment drew closer, hubby and DD kept on trying to dissuade
me, trotting out all types of hair-raising dreadful situations that could
occur, and the disasters little Thusheen would be exposed to, all because he
was going to be looked after by an old grand aunt who was awaiting her boarding
pass in the departure lounge. Babysitting day arrived. Grand aunt went and took
charge of baby Thusheen. He had his lunch, played for a few minutes and went to
sleep. Grand aunt held his little hand and fell asleep by him, and so ended a
successful babysitting session.
Getting back to the advice given by DD to concentrate on
working for the Church and dwelling on matters more spiritual, I must mention
two incidents that got me thinking that I was very close to getting my boarding
pass to meet St Peter. Two weeks ago, a lady in our Church presented me with a
very “religious” book, saying that it would definitely interest me and be very
useful reading. Not a week passed when another lady presented me with not one,
but two “holy books” one of which was titled “The Ultimate
Conversation...Talking with God through Prayer”. I thought of the brighter side
of all this…….that you don’t have to be old to have better communion with God,
but still……..it somehow reinforced the fact that I was now firmly established
in the departure lounge.
I am now two weeks into total retirement and feeling a bit
bored. There was a time when I was nicknamed “BBC” by the cousins, BBC standing
for “Borella Broadcasting Corporation” for I then lived in Borella, and after
chit chatting at the FPA’s Clinic, I was well up with the local news. Now the
local news is confined to what the Cookie has gathered from the other abbots up
and down the road.
My friends are not that supportive of the idea of total
retirement, saying that my brain needs stimulation and that my medical
knowledge (or what is left of it) is going waste. What’s to be done? DN next door plays rugger and fractures his
ankle. Old Aunt is not consulted. Hubby kept groaning for weeks about a pain in
his shoulder, and medical advice and remedies suggested by the home doctor was
ignored until it became unbearable, and he had to be taken to hospital. DD next
door fell off a ladder, and was taken to hospital by force. When we reached the
doctor’s room at the hospital, he thought for a moment that I was the patient
and said, “You do look ill” That was it…..the last straw! I looked old, felt
old, and told the doc that I had just retired as my DD felt I was “too old” to
work, and that, by the way, that it was my DD who was the patient.
So now, here I am, too old to do anything, but not too old to
write. SIL has threatened me saying that he will never speak to me again if I
write anything about him, but I can truly say that he has been left out of the
picture completely. This is sad, for there are so many interesting tit bits
that could have spiced up this article, but have been withheld as discretion is
the better part of valour!
