On Friday, March 7, 2011, I was given what I consider to be a gift – over an hour with Dara Beevas of Beaver’s Pond Press. It was like a free tutorial, discussing the state of “Riding in the Back Seat” which is nowhere near complete, but the development of which will be greatly modified by the content of that discussion. A review written by Jordan Wiklund at that office focused on the distinction between memoir and autobiography, including the following which I found not only instructive but delightfully challenging as well: “… a memoir often wraps an image or idea around itself again and again, re-visioning itself with every chapter or section. Local writer Pat Francisco (Telling) shares this gem about the genre; ‘the real goal of memoir is to re-learn, re-envision, and re-understand what you thought you knew.’”
Of course, I’ve been waking up at 3:00 a.m. since, manipulating ideas about turning the steering wheel in different directions. The fact is, working on “Riding … “ has helped me understand my own marriage and divorce in new ways – and that after I thought I had worked it through completely.
Today, though, I want to focus on a side discussion that developed between Dara and me – the issue of respect for one’s elders. Since I certainly am one of “them” now, I have some reactions springing from personal experience. There are things that people occasionally do to/for me because of “respect” for my age which I, perhaps because of my own personality, don’t experience as respectful. On the other hand, I’ll confess that I’m hoping my views in “Riding … “ will be perceived as valuable based on my lengthy stay on this planet. And I do grab my son’s arm for stability when walking in the slippery snow (which we’ve done a lot of this winter.) I also appreciate rides people offer me when going to strange places in the dark, or even in the daylight. I won’t drive 494 any more – partly encouraged by the “55 Alive” instruction that one should avoid driving in places where one does not feel comfortable.
But here’s the deal. Sometimes “respect” becomes the assumption of inability – a stereotyped view of aged decay. Many years ago, my mother was “seen” by a young psychiatrist in the nursing home where she was living. I was present at the interview. He shouted his original greeting, something like, “Hello, Jennie, I’m Dr. …” “I’m not deaf” my mother responded. “And how have you been feeling,” he shouted back. “My mother isn’t deaf,” I chimed in. And so the interview went. Maybe he suffered a disability, but it certainly would be a rare one – the inability to speak in a normal tone of voice. (Just imagine classroom discussions when he contributed his thoughts.) A few days later when I visited my mother, I learned that she had fired him. Hooray! What a wonderful assertive move on her part. Not only was she not deaf, she was very clear in her cognitive functioning.
Wondering whether I’m being hypersensitive about these issues, I looked up the definition of “respect.” Dictionaries vary, but here’s what my little Merriam-Webster Pocket Dictionary says: “to consider deserving of high regard; esteem; to refrain from interfering with (another’s privacy.)” Am I stretching it too far to suggest that we all deserve “respect,” with maybe an extra portion of interest in the value of experience that comes with age? That’s quite different from the assumption of disability. To put it differently, I suspect there are just as many individual differences among us aged as there are among our younger friends.
Oh, one more thing about nursing homes. I objected at one point to the staff at the nursing home calling my father “Carl.” I pleaded that he was Mr. Gustafson, just as my mother was “Mrs. Gustafson.” I was told that old folks prefer to be addressed by their first names. Maybe some do, but ask. Individual differences, remember?
I’d be so happy to see comments in reaction to this blog.
Oh, Why have I been away from the blog so long? Lots of things, like computer problems and corrupted e-mails taking up my time, but mostly it’s been my problem tearing myself away from “Riding in the Back Seat,” the creation that will certainly be greatly modified after I catch up on myself. No, I’m not anxious to finish it, That would be the end of me …
