A recent conversation with some friends included comments about the public’s perception of older people. We’re “little old women” or “little old men” and, apparently, we’re all invisible.
I’ve been called little all my life; that’s nothing new. I am older now, so I fit the description, but unless circumstances compel me to wish to disappear, I’ve never thought I was invisible. Now I’m thinking about it.
Indignant, and a child of the 1960s, my first thought was of the Beach Boys’ 1967 hit, The Little Old Lady from Pasadena. According to those boys, that little old lady drove a “brand new shiny red Super Stock Dodge” and (sing along everybody) “she drives real fast, and she drives real hard, she’s the terror of Colorado Boulevard.”
As much fun as that song was to remember, I knew I would have to dig deeper.
For 20 years or more, husband Dan and I have known our friend Jane Lucas, and the following is a story Jane has told many times. Jane had been invited to a luncheon, whose topic was mentally and physically challenged adults. She brought along an older friend named Frances.
Frances was small, wore knee socks, Mary Jane shoes, a skirt and blouse, and her gray hair was pinned back with plastic butterfly clips. As Frances walked past a nearby aquarium, she doodled her finger into the water and generally wandered around. When the wait staff came by their table to inquire about drink preferences, the question was addressed not to the gray-haired friend, but to Jane. No one spoke to Frances, few looked at her, and certainly no questions were directed her way.
As the meal progressed and it was almost time for the guest speaker to begin, Frances left for the bathroom and never came back. The next time she was seen was at the podium, dressed in suit and heels, and introduced as Dr. Frances McLean, assistant director of Group Living, an organization for mentally and physically challenged adults.
Frances had just spent almost an hour not only as an invisible, older, person, but as a challenged person. With close to 40 years’ experience in the field, Frances related how it feels to be invisible, how it feels to have assumptions made by those who don’t know you. It was a powerful example of invisibility. Older people aren’t the only ones who can be perceived as invisible.
No one is invisible; everyone is a unique person with gifts to share.
One can’t be invisible when there are things to be done. Sir David Attenborough, now 98, narrated a five-part series titled, A Perfect Planet, an earth science series for BBC One when he was 94.
Jimmy Carter, now 100, at age 97 was still working for Habitat for Humanity, and no, one doesn’t have to be extraordinary in order to not feel invisible.
I am no longer young. My body and my mind are products of my life. I have earned laugh lines, I have earned freckled skin from hours outdoors, and through years of hard work, I have earned a retirement that gives me more time to reflect, learn and to do the things I most love. I have experiences to share, lessons learned to offer, love and joy to give.
Am I a little old lady? Yes, I am. Invisible? Never.
Cindy Arp, teacher/librarian, retired from Knox County Schools. She and husband Dan live in Heiskell.
