Of the Aged and Aristocratic

If you were to say that old people love me, you would be understating the point. Old people coddle me, adore me, wink at, joke on, hug, and talk to me as if I am simultaneously their only grandchild and best friend. It has something to do with my silent charm, I think. It might have something to do with the fact that I listen to them--something I find easy I might add. Old people are as a rule quirky because old people as a rule no longer give a damn. Who doesn’t find that interesting?

This week in particular sent me into the circles of the aged and the aristocratic. I had my usual chit-chat with Henry, an 87 year old Upenn Professor emeritus of psychology, on Thursday. But instead of the normal hour and only Henry, we spoke for almost three hours alongside Tony, an 85 year old sociologist. A psychologist, a sociologist, and a philosopher walk into a bar... And in a way, it was a joke. Here sit three men talking metaphysics, abortion, and lets not forget about (as Henry put it) “the seriousness of jokes.” It’s fun being the religious youth of the group.

Last night continued the trend. I had dinner and a show with Betty, Mo, Bill, and my grandparents. I ate crab cakes, they were the show. Mo, I think, is the youngest—somewhere in his early sixties—the rest are in their seventies. We ate at Ludwigs, a restaurant both as pretentious and delicious as it sounds. Once again I am the only youth present. The first half of the night consisted of me listening to their stories—ones I’m certain had been repeated amongst themselves at least 5 times. The second half of the night consisted of them listening to me blather on about the history of philosophy, the current sentimental state of my generation, and the psychology of love.

The difference between these two sets of people is undoubtedly drastic. Henry and Tony are raving atheists while the other bunch are raving Christian fundamentalists. (No one can tell me my life is uninteresting.) And I have no pithy remark to make concerning the violence of this juxtaposition. I just wanted to recount the week.

I might add though that I’m used to the feeling of violent juxtapositions. Age/youth, educated/uneducated, wealth/poverty, religious/non-religious. A friend of mine in Penn's classics Ph.d program told me last week, “My parents said I could be either the president or a basketball player or a lawyer, and it all just makes me want to curl up and work at Starbucks till I’m dead.” I repeated the sentiment in different terms last night to Mo and my grandparents, “everything is available,” I said, “and we don’t know what’s worth owning; everything is knowable, and we don’t know what to believe; any identity is possible, and we don’t know who we are.”

Whether illusory or no, our grandparent's generation could at least feel they had an object toward which they aimed. Whether atheist or Christian (or whatever), they have their definitives and absolutes. And sitting there listening made me re-realize the attractiveness of that sentiment, that modern sort of comfortability with the world.