Oldies but Goodies

Old people totally creep me out.

There, I said it. Oldies make me uncomfortable. I don't like the smell, the leathery skin, the mumbling, the shaking, miserable, totally creepy house-coat wearing old people of the world. I really hate it when they stretch out a bent, twisted hand in order to stroke your hair and they get their mangled fingers stuck. I don't know what to say to them. But that's just me. I didn't grow up with very many old people. My grandparents (who I adore) lived far away. I didn't have a whole stable of Great Aunties and Great Uncles - thanks to the Holocaust, extended family just didn't happen for me. In some ways this is a good thing, as I rarely had to experience any loss, attend any funerals, or deal with people dying very much.

DH, on the other hand, grew up with a selection of oldies. Some were related to him, some were not, and some (famously) would adopt him in supermarkets and demand rides home. As a result, he is tolerant of oldies. Hell, he spends HOURS researching the oldies we were related to. Since I've been with DH, he's introduced me to a number of really great oldies. Some he is/was related to, others that his family has picked up along the way. Plus, let's face it, his own parents are oldies by defintion. After all, DH himself is not far from being an oldie . So in my own way, I've gotten used to being around oldies. I don't like it, but I can handle it without running from the room and feigning a deep interest in the ceiling tiles in the hallway outside. The thing is, intellectually I know that oldies have a lot to offer. Experience, knowledge, insight and often great comedic moments - the oldies of the world are our true treasures, if only the young 'uns would appreciate them as such. But we don't - or at least, I don't. I can't get past the gnarled hands.

The trio spend a fair amount of time with their beloved grandparents. The grandparents who at the moment are ballroom-dancing, daily-gardening, young-whipper-snapper like in their everyday lives. They aren't crusty. They aren't leathery. They aren't gnarled, bent over, or smelly (except maybe after a day in the garden.) Sure, they have their medical maladies, but on the whole the g'rents are pretty okay. Someday they won't be, though. As much as it pains me to think about it, the g'rents are going to get crusty. And gnarled. And, well...ancient. I'll deal with it - because I knew and loved them in the Days Before Gnarled. The trio will also cope just fine, for the same reason.

Maybe my feelings about other people's children is the same as other people's oldies. In general, I can't stand them. In specific, I might be able to cope with the more mature ones.