Older generation has true 'ain't-down-yet' determination

The Boston Herald

Beverly Beckham

He was old, in his late 70s or early 80s, and walking with a cane through snow on January's only stormy day. It wasn't much of a storm, just a few inches of sloppy slush, making things slippery for a while. It was just an inconvenience for people with strong backs and sturdy legs but a minefield for the elderly.

The old man was coming from a doctor's office at Carney Hospital. He was headed to his car, through the unplowed parking lot, taking small, careful steps. He was slow but he carried himself with dignity. He seemed unfazed by the weather. He wasn't in a hurry. He didn't act annoyed, as if the storm had dumped slush everywhere simply to make his life miserable. He was just a man putting one foot in front of the other, making his way in the world.

He was a stranger; I'd never seen him before and I'll probably never see him again. And yet there was something so compellingly familiar about him, about the fact that he didn't cancel his doctor's appointment, that he went out alone, that he was stubborn and determined enough to get himself where he had to be. I thought about him for days and finally recognized that though his face was unfamiliar, his spirit was not. He epitomized the same "I ain't down yet" Molly Brown determination that I first saw in my grandmother. In her late 70s, she was still waitressing nights, still walking a mile home in the dark, in the winter, in the cold. I used to think this was because she was too stubborn to know when to quit. I think now it's because she was old and knew that quitting would be the end of her.

I see this same tenacious, "I ain't down yet" spirit in old people all the time. Their generation grew up with a different set of rules: Keep your problems to yourself. Don't air your dirty linen in public. Smile even if it kills you. The advice stuck. Last week, I ran into an elderly friend at the bank. She'd walked there from her house, and though it isn't a long walk, it was a cold day and she'd been sick for weeks and this woman has a hard time walking anyway. And yet there she was all dressed up, coat, hat, nice shoes, nice looking and pleasant as can be, asking about my holidays, about my family, about how I was doing.

She could have stayed in her house. She could have said, "I'm old and my legs aren't what they used to be. Someone else go to the bank for me." Or she could have stormed into the bank angry with the world. I can't believe this weather. I've been sick for months and stuck inside. Being old is the worst. There's no reason for getting up in the morning."

Maybe on bad days she thinks these things. But she doesn't say them. What she says in talks to herself is be grateful you can still get around. Look at the problems other people have. Count your blessings instead of your troubles.

You see old people pushing shopping carts around malls to steady themselves, cooking balanced meals when there's no one but themselves to cook for, going out when it would be easier to stay home. But old people aren't after easier. They're not used to easier. They never had it easy. They never had the luxuries, the amenities, all the labor-saving devices we have now. The result is that old age doesn't automatically defeat them. Old age is just another challenge. They work around it. They don't let a surprise winter storm change their plans. They put on their boots, grab their canes, get in their cars and keep their doctor's appointments.

And when a younger person walks by them in a parking lot and moans about the weather, they just smile. For what's a little snow to someone who has to pick his way through a mine-field of challenges every day.