Old and wise

Today I saw a picture on Flickr that went on to talk about the photographer’s grandfather. There was nothing particularly unique about the writeup, just that he was kind, joyful, and made others joyful too. It’s probably not all that uncommon to think of one’s elders, particularly one’s grandparents, in such a light. I know I do.

The only grandparent I ever knew was my mom’s mom, and when I was younger, she was ‘all that’ to me. I remember her as a consummate altruist, a teller of tales, a maker of warm beverages on cold winter days. One of those iron German ladies that were built to last, and did. She was something else, and I remember her fondly.

I also remember my dad fondly. That might seem a little more strange if you knew my history. Dad and I locked horns a whole heck of a lot in my teens. I don’t think I understood him, and I know he didn’t understand me. It isn’t that we had any sort of antagonistic or animosity-laden relationship. In fact, I think for the most part we had an arm’s length relationship. My mom seemed to have more to do with me growing up than my dad, and I seemed to like it that way. Not exactly a recipe for fond memories, but not one for bad either. I was surprized in my early 20′s when dad actually became a person to me, rather than an authority figure. We did have some decent talks, and I think toward the end of his life, we connected more. I felt like I had a better understanding of him, and through this, formed a better opinion that has gotten ever rosier in the years since his death. Dad’s been gone, what, 15 years now… wow.

Thing is, with me, retrospect seems to cure a lot of ills. That’s the first part. When I look back at those days, I don’t really remember the bad times we locked horns; they don’t seem as important (and honestly, now that I’m older, I can truly see why he’d have had cause to be upset with me on a lot of levels). It makes me wonder if I have some spark of retroactive optimism somewhere in me. I remember him as a quiet, dedicated family man more than anything. He had his fears, doubts, challenges. But he lived such that he had a house, a family, and a little money in the bank. Pretty good guy with a pretty good outcome, given what he went through when he was young.

The second part is something I’ll preface with this: I can only really speak for myself here, so if you disagree, that’s way cool. I think that as people age, they become more seasoned. That is, in general, they’re more mindful, less prone to whimsical flights of fancy, more thorough in their assessments, more rational and realistic about the circumstances that surround them. The price is a loss of idealism perhaps; a sort of resignation that you can see if you look closely. They’re also more financially stable, having learned to live with what they have (I know, there’s people who never learn this, but again, I’m speaking in general).

I think these two things equal a happier human being in general. A more stable kind of person. The reason that grandparents or elders seem so damned great a lot of the time is because the kids of today never saw them when they weren’t that way. They only know the awesome old happy dude who could make anyone smile. They weren’t alive when the flailing poor bastard with bad judgement and huge stressors was walking around, yet to morph into the lovable dude.

It’s kind of a self-driven ecosystem–that of the happy dude. I mean, if he was a total bomb at life and never found his way through all the crap, then he wouldn’t have had kids, or would have had them, but raised them badly or maybe the kids think of him as a crotchety old bastard they hate.

I dunno. I guess what I’m tossing around in my head with all this is that you never really stop growing as long as you’re alive. If you can get to the point where younger people think of you as cool or happy or lovable, then that’s a win–not just for them but you you. I hope I get there someday.