Geriatric Adolescence --- Really?

One bit of detail I was unwilling to delete from the new blog heading was the tagline -- "A writer's blog." Thing is, I call myself a writer because I write---in the same way you may call yourself a golfer because you play golf, or a painter because you paint. It's what I do, that's all

Of course, being a golfer doesn’t necessarily mean you play like Tiger. (Though that seems to be easier than it used to be.) Being a painter doesn’t mean you have to paint like Michelangelo or Rockwell. And being a storyteller, the label I prefer, doesn’t mean I have to write great literature. It means that I tell stories because that’s what I like to do. And I’ve decided to spend my October and November doing the things I like.

So I’m a writer, and from the beginning I have viewed this blog as a place to explore and explain some of the storylines I have woven into my Tanner Chronicles narratives. Since I tell the stories I want to tell, I take these ramblings very personally. At the same time, I understand that my stories and the ground they cover are not everyone’s cup of tea. So don’t feel like you’re the only one shaking your head.

Truth is, the most fortunate of us October types remain in satisfying, time-tested relationships. I am blessed to be one of those, and very glad of it. I hope you are too. Yet we both know that too many seniors, male and female, are not so fortunate. They are alone, and too often lonely. 

Before you start throwing things at me, let me be the first to admit that a great many, perhaps most, of those “alone” folks are exactly where they choose to be. They have no need for, and no interest in, a new relationship. What they had, and have taken from that time, will carry them through just fine. They too are among the blessed, and I respect their feelings. But for others, the ones I depict in the Tanner Chronicles, the notion of facing their remaining years alone is not an attractive option. They want, even need, the affirmation and companionship of a new life partner. It is those “wanting” ones who are candidates for my stories.

As you might imagine, October relationships---the ones I write about---are something different than the March and April connections we once pursued so eagerly. If you’re an “October or November” type you don’t need me to tell you that. To begin with, there is an obvious difference in hormonal levels---nature’s sneaky and very effective way of continuing the species. At the same time there are other priorities at work the second (or third) time around. Other considerations have become primary. 

At first glance it may look like those “seekers” are replaying earlier experiences---ones they first encountered as teenagers. Yet the reality of their latest wanting, what I half-jokingly refer to as their geriatric adolescence, is not at all like that first time. In most every way their measure of a prospective partner has changed. Appearance, status, income, even sex appeal, have become less important. The comfort of a caring companion means everything---someone who understands what a “special” person they are, and is willing to help them face the uncertain future that awaits us all. In the end, that undisguised affirmation and caring is apt to outweigh everything else.

A case in point. Johnny Blanton is one of my very favorite Tanner seniors. Fact is, he reminds me of someone I once knew rather well. True, some folks may find his laissez-faire life view a bit off-putting. Yet, given the person he is and the future he faces, his attitude strikes me as spot on. I suppose I even envy his willingness to accept the unvarnished truth of his sad situation.

In Best Friends and Promises Johnny has left the hospital to move in with Jan Pierce, a lonely and very caring librarian. Truth be told, Jan hardly qualifies as an old friend. They first met less than twenty-four hours before Johnny’s latest heart attack. Yet, for reasons she scarcely understands herself, she has invited him to spend his recuperation with her.

Watching Darien bid her father goodbye, Jan Pierce was struggling to make sense of the sudden and dramatic changes in her normally pedestrian life. She was sixty-four years old and had always thought of herself as stable, to the point of boring---given to cautious deliberation, cautious expectations, and cautious actions. An impulsive one-night affair was not her style, any more than inviting a man she scarcely knew to share her home. Why then was she feeling so comfortable, so committed to her unlikely choice?

Truth to tell, Jan was not accustomed to having a man in her life. She had not been a cute baby and had never grown into that condition. From her perspective the only constant in her life had been weight, too much of it. She had never married. As far as she knew, no man had ever considered proposing. Over the years there had been a few casual liaisons, including one that lasted for several months, largely because she had been willing to settle for the minimal affirmation it offered. 

Then, just days before, in the course of a single night, a worn-out Johnny Blanton had accepted her caring as something special. Later, during his days in the ICU, as she waited to know whether he would live or die, she had felt that caring grow.

Now, back in her apartment, Johnny was seated at the end of the sofa when Jan returned. He patted the cushion beside him and nodded for her to join him. “You know,” he said. “I really appreciate this---letting me stay here. I’m not sure what I can offer to make all the trouble worthwhile.”

“Just be yourself. That’s all.” Resting her hand on his knee she leaned against his shoulder. “We’re much too old to be playing silly games. I want you here. That’s enough reason for me. Besides, it’s not like I’ve ever had men chasing after me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You should,” she nodded. “The thing is, from the first time we talked, about my scotch-on-the-rocks of all things, it was like I was visiting with an old friend. It just felt right. And too, I like being able to help. It’s been a long time since anyone needed my help.” 

“You’d better believe I need you and your help. And not just because I’m feeling so puny.”

She looked over into his weary, deep-set eyes. “So tell me, Mr. Blanton. Why does this work for you?”

“Well, to begin with I’ve never been very good at being alone.” How blunt should he be? “But, at the same time, I’m not everyone’s idea of good company.”

“Why would that be? What’s not to appreciate? Is there something I should know about?”

“Oh my. How can I describe it?” Was there a polite way to explain, in words that would not be graphically offensive? “I’ve been called ‘undisciplined’ and a ‘free spirit.’ To some folks I’m a ‘loose cannon.’ And there are other descriptions I won’t repeat in mixed company. All that stuff is pretty negative, but I suppose it’s partly true. It's just that I’ve never cared much what people thought of me.

“But there’s another side to that,” he continued, taking her hand in his. “The part I want you to know about. When I’m on your side I’m there one hundred percent, no matter what. That’s something you should know. I’ll be here for you in any way I can.” There was a moment of quiet as he searched for a way to spell out his final concern. “But there is something else.”

“What’s that?” 

For the first time Jan was witnessing Johnny’s obvious, almost blushing embarrassment. “You may have noticed,” he said. “Based on our one night together, that I am no longer the youthful love-machine my mind tells me I once was.” There, was that subtle enough? Had he made his point?

Jan stifled her laugh and poked playfully at his ribs. “Do you recall hearing any complaints?” 

“You were very kind not to bring that up. Actually, my situation has changed a bit since that first night. For the worse, I’m afraid.”

“Well, after a heart attack, I should think so.”

“When we were kids we used to joke about wanting to die while we were making love. If we had to go, that sounded like the best way. Just so you know, that is no longer my goal.” He paused to let Jan’s soft laugh wash over him, knowing it was exactly the tonic he needed. “I just don’t want to misrepresent my reasons for moving in.”

She leaned over to wrap her fragile old man in a most affectionate hug. “Don’t you ever worry about that. I want you here with me. You want to be here. What other reasons do we need?”

Johnny Blanton was weak and tired---there was no doubting that. But in the midst of his weariness, he sensed the pleasant knowing that he was wanted. That must mean he was exactly where he belonged.

And that is precisely what each of us wants, isn’t it? Even this late in the game, in spite of all the baggage we drag along behind us, the existential quicksand that keeps getting deeper and hills that get steeper each time we climb them---we want to believe that we are “exactly where we belong.”

For some that may look and feel different than any place they’ve been before. It may even include a new “someone.” If that is the goal they must be willing to set aside their outdated “April” qualifiers and focus instead on more-relevant “October and November” attributes. Perhaps their situation calls for a modest dose of geriatric adolescence. In that case, they could do worse than seek a Jan Pierce or Johnny Blanton to share their life.