This is what old looks like.
What the fuck’s wrong
With getting old?
My father used to say:
It’s not so bad
When you consider
The alternative.
I’m too old to be a boomer.
I think I’m glad.
My cohort is less pervasive
Maybe more exclusive…
But saying pre-boomer
Just sounds stupid.
There is a word…
Though we shirk
Away from it.
People say
Oh, you’re not old.
And
You’re only as old as you feel…
Like it’s a dirty word
One that we don’t want to
Feel on our lips…
Or full-bodied
On our tongues.
At my sixtieth birthday party
I celebrated big
By tap-dancing
For gathered
Friends and family.
One friend who had
Already turned sixty, said,
You don’t seem to be upset
At turning sixty.
Startled, I said,
No…Were you upset?
Of course, she replied… flatly.
Well, I said, it’s not a surprise.
I turned fifty-nine last year
About this time.
That led me to think
That sixty might come next.
Now into my seventy-seventh year
Some people are looking for
User-friendly words for us—
To define our age-bracket.
As a word-lover,
I find I’m enjoying
The challenge.
But most options
Are just sickly euphemisms
That reference
Our former roles.
We say, senior citizen
We say, elder.
We say, older adult.
Polished.
Ripened.
Worldly.
Burnished.
Advanced.
Veteran.
Well… belle-dame
Maybe seems
Sort of OK…
But sans merci?
Or even regret?
Ce n’est pas moi!
Why are we afraid
Of a little word?
We’re old people.
We’re
Oldies.
We’re
Wrinklies.
We’re biddies
And geezers.
I’ve earned the right
To call myself old
Simply by living long enough.
These are my bonus years…
This is my 3rd-half.
I’m old.
Both of my kids
Grew up and one of them
Even produced
Kids I get to call grand.
So…
I’m grand, too.
I’m no shrinking violet.
I’m busy and vibrant
And creative as fuck…
Even when my back hurts.
Even when I’m lazy.
I’m not a superwoman
By a long shot.
I’m simply my own version
Of old.
I don’t think I need to
Prove I’m something/anything
That’s “good for my age”…
Or that being old means
I’m lesser than.
No way!
I’m just plain old.
I’m genuinely old.
And I’m claiming the right
To say it…
And to enjoy
The ever-evolving
Versions of me that
Being old brings.
Hey, I’ve done a lot.
And I’m still doing a lot.
These are my gravy years.
It’s not about finding
A new word…
It’s about claiming
The old one
With ferocious pride.
~Bette Forester
sequestered in Toronto, April 2020
