Uneori Pastele imi miroase a batrinete, iar Craciunul a copilarie.
You live in your body everyday of your life. Things change slowly, inexorably, in increments too small to measure. You gain weight, you lose weight, your hair falls out. Your skin slackens, your voice thins, your bones become brittle, your ankles swell. Your prostate and a piece of your colon are removed. Your back bends with the weight of gravity and passing time. You wake up twice during the night to pee; once in a hile, you wet your pants. Crossing your legs has become a project that requires your hands; getting out of a chair has become a gymnastics routine; eating a bowl of soup has become a logistical feat. Whenever you go to the store, you can’ remember if you have coffee at home.
You ask people questions several times over. Sometimes, just as you‘re asking, you realize that you’ve already asked this same question, that you ‘ve already heard the answer. You go ahead and ask again anyway. It’s too embarrassing to do anything else.
All of this happens; everything changes. But the odd part is, you don’t really notice. You’re aware of it, sure, but somehow it doesn’t integrate. Deep down, to yourself, you are always just you, the same pair of eyes in the mirror, the same familiar voice inside your head still wondering, “when will I feel grown up?”
Cea mai frumoasa descriere a batrinetii. Un fragment din Old – profilul unui batrin de 92 de ani – scris de Mike Sager, pentru Esquire Sept 1998.
Articolul e in cartea Revenge of the Donut Boys: True Stories of Lust, Fame, Survival and Multiple Personality
Mi-am adus aminte de el vazind, pe strada, batrinii care pleaca la slujba de inviere.