She Looks Good for her Age

“Barry Manilow, the 68 year old entertainer, donated $300,000 worth of music instruments to the Joplin Missouri High School.”

This was the opening gambit to a news story I read recently. As I am a lifelong fan of Barry’s, any news tidbit involving him interests me. I found his gift to the Joplin school very generous: there were a few pianos involved, as well as some brass instruments and some strings. He wants to encourage young students to keep music and the arts in their life.

All too often we read about school budget cuts, and what usually gets cut is The Arts. Who needs music when you can play football or basketball, right? After the Joplin area was devastated by the tornado, it might have taken the school forever to replace the instruments lost in the storm. Because of Barry’s gift the students will not be deprived of their chance at music.

So what does his age have to do with his giving Joplin High a $300,000 gift?

Lately the issue of age has been everywhere, it seems. Or does it only seem so to me? It occurred to me while traveling across our great Nation this summer that American society is ageist in the extreme. In this economic recession, when it is so hard to find a job and even harder to hang on to one, older workers are getting laid off or even railroaded into retirement, and then being replaced by young candidates.

In spite of the ongoing news stories of how age, experience and talent are being scrapped from the workplace in favor of employees who no doubt earn less than their more seasoned counterparts, there is a certain deference given to the aged in America. It does not begin to approach the level of respect given older people in China, though.

Last night I enjoyed a dinner with Hellen and Evan, the latest speech candidate recruited for the competition. When the food was brought to the table, Hellen spun the table’s Lazy Susan so that the rice bucket stopped directly in front of me. I suggested she serve herself first, but she explained that allowing me to serve myself first showed respect for the fact that I am doing the school a favor by grooming the students for competition. “It is also a nod to your age” she said, and added that she hoped I would not be offended.

Again, with the age thing? Just the day before I made myself up and capered all over campus like a child, scaring young and old alike and getting told to go wash my face. What does my age have anything to do with when I get to serve myself rice?

Back to America now. One day, while my son and I were out we saw a woman jogging along the beach. “She looks good for her age” he contended. I bristled. The woman looked good: firm thighs rippling under bronze skin, tight glutes pumping, hair skeined back so that it would not mingle with the sweat her physical exertion produced, flat stomach and nothing bouncing, flabbing or sinking anywhere on her body. The only indication of age on this woman was a few wrinkles on her face, and her hands. Why was it necessary for him to add the qualifier ‘for her age’?

Sam, my good friend and official liaison contends that, unless people know I was born in 1962 I could easily knock 10 years off my age when people ask me how old I am, and I could get away with it. All of my students are shocked to find out that I am right on the threshold of the half-century mark. And, once they find out how old I am, I get treated no differently than if I were in my 30’s. They still like to hang out with me, play tricks on me, go places with me and generally enjoy my company.

This contrasts dramatically to Robert, my son’s neighbor. One morning I was enjoying the California sunshine on the balcony – the same one I thought Zeva should take a flying leap off of, if you remember that terrible flub, and this Robert character jovially addressed me. “Good Morning” he shouted from across the way. “What’s going on? Where’s Darrell?” We bantered back and forth for a time and then he asked me where I’ve been, because he hadn’t seen me in a while.

“China” I responded, much to his confoundment. I asked him if he knew who I was, to which he promptly replied:

“Sure! You’re Darrell’s sister, right?”

“No, I’m his mother. I’ve been in China for the last year; that is why you haven’t seen me in a while.”

Immediately his countenance and demeanor changed. He averted his eyes and peppered his speech with ‘Ma’am’s. The first thing that tumbled from his mouth was “I’m so sorry; I thought you were his sister!”

Now: if I look good enough to be mistaken for my 30 year old daughter and we carry on playful banter, why, when he finds out I’m of an older set, do I suddenly merit no eye contact and a lot of “ma’am”?

Truth is, I’ve had to wrestle with the age thing. I’m not ready to be ‘old’, but I’ve accepted that I too will be a victim of age. Sooner or later the hint of wrinkles currently on my face will become actual lines, the grey hair I cover so assiduously will take over my entire head instead of just a few strands and my joints will start feeling the exertion of climbing all of those stairs and all of the walking I do. I’m not exactly ready for them, but I suppose, as these indicators manifest themselves, I will be. I will have to be, won’t I?

I think I can handle being old in China, but not in America. In China, age is a marker of experience and wisdom. Inclusion of the elderly is desired, not run away from. I would not be judged by my age but will be deferred to because of it. Here I do not get the feeling that soon, I will be carted away to the nearest pasture and carefully monitored for signs of ailing and failing. Although I’m still not wild about being first to serve myself rice, regardless of the reason – be it that I am a foreigner or that I’m old, I accept that this culture mandates such respect. Here I will not have to endure that demeaning qualifer ‘for her age’. Here, I just look good.

I don’t think I could handle American-bred solicitousness born of my possible brittle bones or diminished mental capacity. And I definitely would not be able to deal with witnessing my usefulness or purpose in society being relegated right off the table and out the door.

Let’s get back to Barry. Did you know he released his first album of original music in over 20 years? He was quite the smash in his day, you know: hit after hit, sold out show in city after city all over the world. Of course, either you were a fan or you weren’t; the camps were firmly divided. Some could not stand him and others adored him. And it is still that way, even with a new generation of listeners.

What has he been doing with himself for the past 20 years then? Touring the world and playing to sold out crowds. Solid bookings in Vegas, playing his well reviewed show to housefuls of admirers. He’s been grooming and sponsoring up and coming artists. He’s been quietly donating hordes of money to institutions around the world through his Manilow Music Project. He did a lot of cover albums in between all that, which I didn’t think was such a great career move for him. But he doesn’t care what I think. He doesn’t even know I exist. One of the songs on his new CD talks about that.

Another news item, this one about the album – or should I say ‘disc’ he released earlier this year:

“Barry Manilow has released his first studio album in over 20 years. The 68 year old entertainer, with his eerily wrinkle free skin…”

Is wrinkle free skin a prerequisite to releasing an album nowadays? One would think so, considering that Justin Bieber is still a teenager and Taylor Swift is barely out of her teens. Of course, no one reads a blurb about them that says: “Justin Bieber, that teen sensation…” or “Taylor Swift, that 21 year old siren…” No, it appears acceptable to be in the music industry as long as there are no wrinkles involved.

Sadly, the larger part of that article about Barry involved whether he had had any cosmetic surgery done.

“No,” he quipped, “my family just has naturally good genes.”

And then the writer went on to describe Barry’s now legendary music feats, such as being selected by The Chairman of the Board, ole Blue Eyes himself to be the next Senior Heartthrob. Or how about his being the only musician in recorded music history to have earned all 5 possible top awards in show business? And, reputedly, Bob Dylan once threw his arms around Barry at a party and told him to keep doing what he’s doing because he is an inspiration to us all.

If Barry is doing things right, what does his age or his wrinkle free skin matter?

If I’m doing things right, who cares whether I get to serve myself rice before everyone else?