By JP
Malig
One
of the drawbacks of growing older is dealing with increasing numbers of younger
people. Angeles City overflows with
these.
Each
June, we herald the arrival of a new class of dewy freshmen, ready to take the
world by storm—just like last year’s crop which didn’t and who we’ve forgotten
about.
What entices us is not the freshmen
themselves but what they have and represent: youth. Celebrating others’ youth makes us
vicariously young again, and helps us forget, for a moment, that ours is gone or
on its way out.
Everyone
worships youth. But youth viewed
from the eyes of those who have seen theirs fade is at the same time riveting
and terrifying. Can a woman’s
legs really be that smooth? Does
she notice my sagging chin? Does
she see me as a man or someone who reminds her of her dad? In this town, gentlemen on the cusp of
40 ask these questions many times a day.
One
of life’s shocks for which men cannot prepare is the sudden realization there
are women who are too young for them.
It sneaks up on us, as we flirt with the arrogance that they now bask in,
then becomes our wistful companion for the rest of our lives.
Youth
fascinates, yet threatens us. It
fills us with hope, yet chills us with dread. It charms us with fantasies, yet
lectures us about realities. Youth,
to those who are no longer young, is purposeful.
We
mourned the loss of Princess Diana because she was sweet and nice and poignantly
sad. But mostly we mourned her
because she was young and beautiful and that youth and beauty were snuffed out
by a cold reality that has no regard for our sentimental notions of enduring
freshness and comeliness.
Had
Diana died twenty years hence, the outpouring of grief would not have been the
same. But that doesn’t mean we were
shallow in our reaction; just human and slightly misled.
Our
fascination with youth should lead us to an understanding that there must be a
youthfulness that can last, that cannot be wrinkled by sun or years.
It is
the youthfulness of heart and spirit bolstered by a love of life and
others. It is a youthfulness that
sustained a small, stooped lady who lived and labored in the ruins of Calcutta
and smiled like a little girl until her body gave out. She is still
smiling.
There
are two paths we can take as we grow older. One is paved with denial, tinged with
bitterness. Along the other, the
young people we meet remind us of how young we can be inside. That youth, as bright and invigorating
as any, can only fade if we let it.
11
May 1998