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Wisdom Hard to Come By by J. G. Fabiano It was remarkably quiet on the beach the other day. This autumn's weather more than made up for the dismal days of the preceding summer. The quiet time on the beach was quite logical, because most of the tourists had long since evacuated the beautiful place we call home. I was not alone though: all around me were men and women enjoying the same serenity I was in the process of enjoying. Having benches along the beach at Short Sands makes it especially special this time of year. All types of people take the time to sit and enjoy why we all came here to live. I sat down next to an elderly gentleman whose white, ashen skin probably hadn't seen the sun in a long time. He looked frail and after I sat down next to him he almost appeared afraid. After a few moments it was obvious that I did make him feel uncomfortable because he leaned toward his side of the bench, as far away from me as possible. Maybe he was afraid of me. I decided to talk with this gentleman so I could at least try to calm him down. He wouldn't even look at me. He just stared straight ahead and in his mind's eye I am sure that I didn't even exist. Why won't the old talk to us? Why is it so hard for them to explain their years of experiences to those of us who try not to make the mistakes, of those who lived before us? Why is it so difficult for them to look into our eyes and explain how they got to become so old? To paraphrase Harry Truman: "There is nothing new in this world. Only the times that are not remembered." We can't remember these times unless the people who lived through them will explain them to us! As I was sitting on that bench, I remembered watching another elderly gentleman, over the past couple of decades or so. I saw how he respected and enjoyed what life had to offer. Into the summer he kept his yard and driveway immaculately clean and organized. It was obvious that he had come to realize that the more orderly his home, the more controlled his life appeared. All summer-long he never let the outgrowths beat him. Even when it looked foolish, and all his neighbors thought he was crazy, he still kept his yard perfectly ordered. It was as though he wanted to embarrass all of us, who did not have the tenacity to do the same. When the summer was over, he replaced the lawn mower with a basket of broken bread. Every morning, without fail, he was seen feeding the seagulls that appeared before him. I have watched him do this for the past couple of decades. I have heard from others that they can't remember a year in which he had failed to do so. Like with the man who was sitting next to me on the bench, I had worked up the courage to talk to my elderly neighbor. He became so uncomfortable when I approached. In fact, he looked as though he wanted to disappear into his perfectly-kept house. Even as I tried to smile my broadest smile, and act as friendly as I could, he still looked away from me. With all his might he tried, and succeeded, to ignore me. Had this old man been so badly treated by those who were younger that he insisted on keeping his distance from all who approached him? Or was he afraid that I might think he was unnecessary because of his age? Don't the aged realize that they should be both admired and revered because of their years? Doesn't everyone realize what the old have to offer? Don't the old realize this?
Another elderly gentleman moved down the road from my house about the same time. He also developed his home into a neat and organized system for all to admire. In trying to be a good neighbor, I waved to him and smiled my friendliest smile. Like my experience with my other neighbor, I was ignored. He merely stared down at the ground praying that I would disappear. Because of my youthful insistence, I decided to try and force out a conversation with my new neighbor but he just looked right through me, and refused to listen to anything I was trying to say. I failed to communicate, and to this day he refuses to return any acknowledgments of friendship or concern. Again I looked over at the elderly gentleman who was sitting beside me. I wanted to attempt another conversation but decided against it, as I didn't want to make him more uncomfortable than he already was. In years past, I wouldn't have bothered attempting to strike up any conversation with someone that old. I guess I was too interested in my success in society, instead of a success in life. This, more than any other reason, is why I yearn to communicate with those who have survived their years? I believe that if all of us would take the time to learn from the aged then we could learn to live a fuller life. A classic adage is that youth is wasted on the young. I pray that the wisdom of the elderly is not wasted and thus lost on the old. That elderly gentleman finally decided that it was his time to leave but I sat there for a while contemplating nothing more important than myself. All of a sudden, a young man who rolled up to the bench, on his scooter, broke my self-induced trance. He sat down next to me and I made sure I gave him all the room he needed. I know he looked over at me a couple of times but I am sure I convinced him that I didn't notice. A few minutes later I decided that it was my time to leave and, as I walked back to my car, I again asked myself why won't the old talk to us? The End
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