Old age is a state of mind

By Edgar Sandoval
Reporter
South Florida Sun-Sentinel, Fort Lauderdale

Posted: May 13, 2003

Old.

That was all I could think.

One day, I am going to get old.

Really old — gray hair, wheelchair, adhesive teeth and wrinkly face old.

Being a journalist, I have the opportunity to witness all aspects of life and death. During my six years as a newspaper writer, I have covered stories about children, education, crime, despair and everything in between. And I always have managed to cover these stories and then move on with my day and my life. But for some reason, I could not move on as easily one recent day when I visited a nursing home.

Wrinkles. Aching body. Trapped in a room all day, sitting, watching young people run and play outside. Trapped in a deteriorating body.

The images kept coming to my mind. I tried to shake my head to dismiss them. But they only came back with a vengeance.

I was working on a profile of a 14-year-old girl and decided to visit a nursing home where she volunteers. I showed up and greeted her. The girl was tall and skinny and had the energy of a lighting rod.

"Come, let me give you a tour of the place," she said.

As I followed her, I noticed a smell I could not define. The smell of old, I told myself. The smell surrounded me and penetrated my clothes and skin.

How can I think like this? It’s not like I dislike old people. I adore my grandparents. But I never really stopped to think about what growing old means. The golden years. Or maybe, the forgotten years.

I watched the girl, cheery and smiley and walking fast as if she were headed to a dance floor. She found an old man, missing a leg, in a wheelchair. She ran to him and hugged him tightly.

She was not afraid of the smell or of one day being an old lady with only one leg.

Then again, she is only 14 years old. She will have to live twice her current age to reach my age. For her, getting old seems impossible. A never-reaching land.

On the other hand, I’m bordering on my late 20s and only a few decades away from Social Security. In a little more than 30 years, I’ll be 60. And right after that, 80. My God! Can somebody stop that clock?

I started making a list in my mind: Things to do before I reach 60.

• Find that special someone.

• Buy a house and maybe a boat.

• Write a book, maybe more.

• Have children, at least one.

• Buy a puppy.

We continued walking. I saw old women staring at the floor. I hardly saw a clock. What's the point anyway? It is not like they have a hectic schedule: Wake up. Sit on the bed. More sitting. Sit some more.

I closed my eyes for a second and saw myself sitting beside one of those old women, a walker right beside me, my face so full of wrinkles I could barely find my eyes. I am staring through the window and seeing trees, birds and a shining sun. I remember the days when I used to run in the park, forcing my body to go a little farther every day. I remember how, as a guy in his 20s, I hit the gym to keep my energy level high.

Those days were gone in my imagination. I am old now. My once perfect white teeth are gone. They have been replaced with false yellow-looking ones. I am wearing glasses so thick they could stop bullets.

I am old. It's just a matter of time. I will be in one of these places.

My reverie was interrupted as the girl chatted, telling me the names of her old friends. I nodded and smiled, but I could think of only one thing: Is this what it all comes down to?

Working all my life and making money for what? To sit in a lonely room and admire a view of a park?

The girl finished giving her tour, and I said goodbye.

When I got back to the newspaper I ran to the newsroom restroom and took a long look at myself in the mirror. No, I am not old. No gray hairs yet. But I do see a wrinkle. I have to buy one of those anti-wrinkle creams.

Then I realized how foolish I must look, standing there and looking for wrinkles. How shallow am I? So, I get wrinkles when I smile. Big deal. So, I will get gray hairs in a few decades. Big deal. It's not like I'll be the only one.

I have to accept the fact that I cannot control everything. Especially aging. I shook my head again. Maybe I didn't really fear aging. Maybe what I feared was people like me who judge others based on age.

I will get old. And if I am lucky, I will get really old and I will have a lifetime of experiences. I can share them with others even if I can’t hold a pen or type and even if I can’t talk because I have forgotten to put in my teeth.

I will be the best darn old person there will be.

Father Time, here I come.

Edgar Sandoval was a Summer 1999 Scholar who was an intern at The Tennessean in Nashville. Reach him at SandovalEdgar@email.com.

Read more from Sandoval:

Too American

Journo rap

The graduate

Me and my accent

Learning the hard way

Depending on me

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