The news is grim. The seniors crisis is at hand. Canada now has more people over the age of 65 than kids under 14. The infestation of old people is only going to get worse. Well before the last of the boomers shuffle off this mortal coil (somewhere around 2059), more than 25 per cent of the Canadian population will probably be over 65.
It won't be pretty. Daycare workers will switch to looking after wrinkled oldies. Health and pension costs will explode. Vast warehouses of demented people will replace schools as economic growth slows to a halt and social creativity decays. Would you want to live in such a world? Not me.
Fortunately, old age isn't what it used to be. I used to dread it. I had always thought that seniors were preoccupied with dentures, hearing aids and Shoppers Drug Mart seniors' specials. Now I know that's not the case. They're more likely to be complaining about the dates they've met through Match.com.
"Some of the women are very superficial," groused a 70-ish something man I know. "They're just in it for the sex." Although he's happy to oblige, he wants to find a woman who likes him for himself. Also, it was awkward to explain to his 40-year-old daughter (who keeps an eye on his) finances why there was a $132 charge from Holiday Inn on his Visa card. "We didn't even stay overnight," he said. "It was just a nooner."
Other seniors really do make life a nuisance. In the tranquil little country town near our place, the peace is shattered every weekend by roving geriatric motorcycle gangs. They love to rev their engines up and down Mill Street, with their old ladies on the back. And I do mean old. You'd be amazed how many motorcycle grandmas there are.
Old age is changing even faster than we think. As our lifespans extend by leaps and bounds, we're also growing older more slowly. Sixty really is the new 50, or maybe even the new 40. If functional old age doesn't start until 15 years before you die, then most of us won't enter old age until our early 70s. A lot of us will make it to our mid-80s in reasonably good shape before we efficiently fall off the cliff.
So what will we do with all that extra life? It turns out we'll do pretty much the same things we've been doing all along – hopefully without embarrassing our kids too much.
I confess that this realization took quite a lot of time to dawn on me. I had always thought that turning 65 would be a sort of reverse-Cinderella moment, when youth and love and work would all be snatched away and I would turn into a miserable, wizened crone. Then I turned 65, and none of that happened. Instead, there was a sort of liberation. For the first time in my life I felt that I could, within reason, do exactly what I wanted. And what I wanted was pretty much what I already had (except for the youth part). Work, love, friends, good books to read and woods to walk in. Not much has changed, except in good ways.
Not everything is perfect. Our memories are shot. My friends and I have conversations that go: "I really loved that movie, oh, gosh, what was it called, with that great villain. Casper Sousa? Who played him, anyway? He was terrific." Fortunately, God invented Google just in time for us, along with artificial hips and other mental and physical aids.
Now that many of us won't be entering true old age for quite a while, it's time to revise the language. For starters, we should abolish the odious term "retirement age." There's no such thing any more. Almost every "senior" I know is doing some kind of productive work, paid or unpaid, part-time or full. Nobody is "retired." Everyone is out there in the world, and some are busier than ever.
The other word we should retire is "senior," with all its dreadful, infantilizing connotations. "Senior" makes me scream. I may be old but my marbles are intact (mostly). My abs are firmer than yours (maybe). I am, in fact, exactly like you, only a little calmer and a little older.
For example, I now know that most people's interest in sex and passion never goes away, no matter how old and senile they may be. What goes away is the opportunity. This fact may be revolting to the young, but it keeps life interesting for the rest of us. Handsome young men have no idea how older women secretly eye them on the subway, and that is probably a good thing. Sadly, they don't eye us back. You need an 80-year-old to do that.