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Captive on the Carousel of Time
Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
...
Take your time, it won't be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down
Joni Mitchell - some time in the seventies
| The Young
My daughter at 16 months - jumping
| The Old
 |
Getting old is not nice. I don't care what anyone says - I think getting old sucks.
I used to get annoyed when my mother said that. And when she hit her fifties she'd say it constantly.
At times I thought she was over sensitive, but I know better now and I wish she was around for me to say sorry.
Like the time my son Jed was two and a half. A cute blonde little Australian toddler. Here he is in the photo on the right.
He was a child who lived in his own little world. We lived in rural Victoria. On weekends we'd drive to Melbourne and the four of us, me, my then husband, and the two
kids, would stay at my mother's place. We all called her "Haze".
She loved us coming and the kids especially loved to stay. She delighted in being with young children. She'd make sure she had a special treat for them whenever we arrived.
When Jed was around two and a half, he suddenly developed a fear of going. He'd kick up a fuss when we put him in his car-seat and cower behind my legs when we walked in to her home. For the whole trip he avoided her like the plague.
We questioned and questioned him and at last it all came out. On a few occasions she'd bought him and his sister a big bright red shiny apple. "Here you are little ones", she'd said. "A nice shiny apple; I polished it myself".
Poor little Jed. He had taken the apple and lived every weekend in fear from then on. His grandmother was no doubt, he thought, - a witch!
I phoned Haze. "It's OK now", I explained. "Jed is OK to visit now. He didn't want to come before because he was scared stiff. He though you were a witch!"
Haze was outraged. "Oh THANK YOU VERY MUCH!" she answered. "That's what happens when you get old - you look like a witch!" I explained about the apple to no avail. "You can't fool me!" she said.
I think it was Oscar Wilde who said, "Youth is wasted on the young", and he was right. In our society, young in good and old is bad, and that's then end of it.
I see baby boomers on the telly; their hair-styles frozen in time of their youth. Men with receding hairlines, and a tumble of thinning gray hair - hair that was once golden yellow or a rich brown. How sad.
But what is sadder is that I look at them, and think how old they are, for a split second not digesting the fact that they are my own age.
When I was young and good-looking and a student at Melbourne University, I had a steady boyfriend. For a while I flirted slightly with another boy - very good looking and intelligent but he too was in a relationship. Her name was Cheri.
After I divorced at 35 I got in touch with an old uni friend who had known us both.
He said - "J says he's broken with Cheri, and for me to tell you. He'd like to get in touch with you if you are free too".
I remembered J, his body, his hair, his eyes. But no I couldn't meet with him. I was in yet another relationship.
I sent the message back.
Ten years passed and I happened to drop by the mutual friend's house around two in an afternoon. There was a dinner party going on. "Come in," he said. "Oh no I won't stay" I replied. "I'll just say hello and go". Which I did.
As mutual friend saw me to the door, he sniggered and said, "That was J sitting by the window".
I was mortified. Plus I did not believe him. "WAS NOT!" I snapped. "J is beautiful. There was an old guy with no hair near the window!"
What a downer!
Yes, getting old is the pits. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.
Kate Juliff
New York
September 2005
