I was flipping through the daily newspaper recently and ran across a blurb about an elderly woman who was mauled by a pit bull. What an awful and tragic event! I pictured a gray-haired, frail little old lady hobbling slowly along with her walker minding her own business when — WHAM ! she was bowled over by a couple nasty snarling dogs. The owner had been warned several times to control his dogs–but obviously he didn’t, and a tragedy resulted.
I was mildly outraged as I read the article, but I REALLY became outraged when I read that the elderly woman in question was 63 years old. ARE YOU FLIPPIN’ KIDDING ME! 63 is NOT elderly! I know 60+ year olds that can whup my ass (and a bunch of younger kids asses too) on or off the tennis court. They are not ELDERLY for cryin’ out loud. I will concede that the label of ‘old’ could be appropriate from the perspective of a teenager, a young child, or someone who is clueless. But the term elderly to me implies a level of fragility that certainly does not apply to most people in their sixties.
If it were a 63 year old man, would HE have been called elderly? The dominant, cynical part of my brain thinks not.
My own definition of old is always at least 15 years older than I am. Personally, I intend to self-identify as middle-aged indefinitely. I firmly believe that your mind-set, activity level and lifestyle are much more accurate predictors of your health and quality of life than the number that is your age.
I recently attended a farewell shingdig for a woman from my church who is moving to Florida. Roselyn is the one who inspired me to play tennis–when SHE was 63. She is now well into her 80s and is one of the most vibrant, active people I know. She is an absolute inspiration.
I look forward to the day, many years in the future, when one of my grandkids will point at me and say: ‘Look at grandma out on the dance floor with her oxygen tank’. In the meantime, I will stay away from pit bulls.