Get your pacemaker running -- head out on the highway ...
I like to think I act my age. I’m not saying I do act my age, only that I ‘like’ to think I do. I try to carry on with my days in a manner that befits a male of a ‘certain’ age – not yet having slid into geezerdom, and still youthful enough to be active, aware, and tolerant of the changing modes of life in contemporary society. I like (again, note ‘like’) to think I’m mature, even with a patina of sophistication. You know, Cary Grant-ish. An interviewer once told Grant that he (the interviewing reporter) had always wanted to be just like Cary Grant. “So did I,” Grant replied.
My point here is, I know I am no longer a youth. I don’t even want to be a youth. I didn’t like being a youth at the time because it mainly consisted of being broke, so why would I want to go there again? Anyway, I don’t know any of the music, nor do I want to. Honky-Tonk Women and Wild Thing will have to carry me through.
So, the question I ask is, why do some men want to carry on as if they are still, say, 25? I have an older friend. I see him regularly, his rather portly frame encased in skin-tight leathers as he glides up on his Harley. Nice bike, I’ll concede, but does my friend think he is fooling anybody? Does he believe somebody will mistake him for a youthful biker boy? I mean, if he falls off that Hog, he’ll really hurt himself. And, considering the hypertension and atrial fibrillation he suffers from, the chances of him falling off are pretty damn good. I don’t want to relegate him to a scooter yet, maybe something along the lines of even a nice sportscar – with four wheels.
But, there are legions of ‘pseudo-dudes’ like my friend. At a coffee joint I frequent, I avoid Tuesday mornings because that is when an entire gang of these ‘Heck’s Angels’ gather and pay their weekly homage to Peter Fonda and Marlon Brando. And, they sport all the gear, and they possess motorized velocipedes that considerably exceed the family sedan in cost.
In fact, there aren’t just legions of these guys who are hanging on to ‘something,’ there are veritable armies of them. Consider the success of the recently released film Wild Hogs, starring Travolta (It’s no longer Vinnie Barbarino days, Dude) William H. Macy, Tim Allen and Martin Lawrence. It was the weekend box office champ, and it is essentially the tale of a bunch of old buzzards attempting to recapture whatever it is they want to recapture.
I understand the impulse to a certain extent. I love the movie American Graffiti because it captures a summertime night in a small California town in the early 1960s, and I actually spent the previous summer to the one suggested by the film in the same town, and I will attest to the authenticity of the flavor of AG. I was also always much more of a hotrot buff than a motorcycle afficionado. At the same time, in watching it, in listening to the fabulously evocative music, I have no desire to go back to that time. For one thing, I have a bit more money and my sex life is way better now.
Yet, yesterday, I was out for a walk with Wendy and this absolutely cherry 1934 Ford pickup hotrod cruised by. It was wondrous to see this vehicle. And, it was fascinating to see the owner behind the wheel. He looked a lot like my grandfather used to look in the days when he’d accepted the rigors of his age.
But, people did that before the age of denial.
My point here is, I know I am no longer a youth. I don’t even want to be a youth. I didn’t like being a youth at the time because it mainly consisted of being broke, so why would I want to go there again? Anyway, I don’t know any of the music, nor do I want to. Honky-Tonk Women and Wild Thing will have to carry me through.
So, the question I ask is, why do some men want to carry on as if they are still, say, 25? I have an older friend. I see him regularly, his rather portly frame encased in skin-tight leathers as he glides up on his Harley. Nice bike, I’ll concede, but does my friend think he is fooling anybody? Does he believe somebody will mistake him for a youthful biker boy? I mean, if he falls off that Hog, he’ll really hurt himself. And, considering the hypertension and atrial fibrillation he suffers from, the chances of him falling off are pretty damn good. I don’t want to relegate him to a scooter yet, maybe something along the lines of even a nice sportscar – with four wheels.
But, there are legions of ‘pseudo-dudes’ like my friend. At a coffee joint I frequent, I avoid Tuesday mornings because that is when an entire gang of these ‘Heck’s Angels’ gather and pay their weekly homage to Peter Fonda and Marlon Brando. And, they sport all the gear, and they possess motorized velocipedes that considerably exceed the family sedan in cost.
In fact, there aren’t just legions of these guys who are hanging on to ‘something,’ there are veritable armies of them. Consider the success of the recently released film Wild Hogs, starring Travolta (It’s no longer Vinnie Barbarino days, Dude) William H. Macy, Tim Allen and Martin Lawrence. It was the weekend box office champ, and it is essentially the tale of a bunch of old buzzards attempting to recapture whatever it is they want to recapture.
I understand the impulse to a certain extent. I love the movie American Graffiti because it captures a summertime night in a small California town in the early 1960s, and I actually spent the previous summer to the one suggested by the film in the same town, and I will attest to the authenticity of the flavor of AG. I was also always much more of a hotrot buff than a motorcycle afficionado. At the same time, in watching it, in listening to the fabulously evocative music, I have no desire to go back to that time. For one thing, I have a bit more money and my sex life is way better now.
Yet, yesterday, I was out for a walk with Wendy and this absolutely cherry 1934 Ford pickup hotrod cruised by. It was wondrous to see this vehicle. And, it was fascinating to see the owner behind the wheel. He looked a lot like my grandfather used to look in the days when he’d accepted the rigors of his age.
But, people did that before the age of denial.
Labels: age denial, bikers from Heck, not getting real
posted by Ian Lidster at
10:23 AM
6 Comments:
How right you are Ian and I would add it seems even more pronounced in woman who nowadays get cosmetic surgery for every part of the aging body. People getting older and gracefully accepting their age is a beautiful thing to see. So much character shines in their faces and you wonder what wonderful stories they could tell you about life. Not many seem to understand or be comfortable that life is always about change - be it your age, the weather, the tree on the hill or the passing seasons. How much less stress we humans would have if this fact was accepted as part of daily living.
Last summer I really noticed that old guy thing. Every weekend as we were on our way to the cottage we'd see lots of convertible BMWs and Mercedes' and the like. All driven by 50+ guys with no hair (the sunburns some of them must've gotten) and a cute young thing beside them. What, exactly are they trying to prove?
Of course women aren't better. As Janice pointed out women do the botox and the lifts and the boob jobs.
It's rather pathetic how we refuse to age. But despite the lifted faces and the Harleys, we (they) are still over 50 (or whatever age)you can't run away from time.
maybe it's because of the way some men and women, perceive youth and beauty. obviously, they're looking at the outward appearance and not liking what they see. i think growing old gracefully is beautiful. i'll know more when i get there.
As usual, I'm the odd man out here. I'm just childish by nature. If I tried to act 45, I would be doing just that - ACTING. I'm just myself: a happy silly person. I like keeping up with the popular music and I like to quote lines from "Dude, Where's My Car?" because they are funny to me. I say just be comfortable in your own skin - whatever that is. Ageing gracefully is beautiful if it's right for you. I guess I'm just not very graceful.
Ah Ian, it's not just men. I know ladies of my age who sport two piece bikinis over their ample frames, and hit on their children's peers.
But then again, there are some people who, although they're "of an age," just forget to grow old. My dad - who will have been gone 20 years this coming October - still worked every day until he died at 84, and still got there on his motorcycle during the summer months until he was 82. There was no affectation of being a younger man - it was just something that gave him great pleasure, and which he was perfectly able to do until that time.
The real question comes when each individual has to ask him/herself: "Just how old am I, really?"
Personally, I've let my hair remain it's natural white, and I wear what I'm comfortable in - whatever that happens to be. I've earned every wrinkle, every white strand ...
... and if it's harder to get out of my waterbed every morning, it's still one more morning that my feet touched the floor.
Great post, Ian ... :o)
It's complicated (isn't everything). Mostly I completely agree, and wonder what in the world some older people are thinking. But then I hear yong people who act as if they have dibs on everything fun, and I think, "No way!" So, I also agree with geewits (who is actually the odd woman out, except that I'm with her)that there has t be some freedom in decidig what kind of aging is right for you.
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