Down the street from us, behind the elementary school at the end of the block, there’s a park. There’s playground equipment, swings and slides and climbing structures. There’s a splash pad, too, for warm weather. And there’s a track; folks run and walk on it, parents push their babies in strollers, Peter rides his scooter around the oval. And, scattered about, there are park benches.
The park bench by the splash pad, where people of ALL ages sit, sometimes.
A couple of years ago, Peter and I went to the park. As we walked toward the splash pad, I noticed a couple of men, senior adults, sitting, with their backs toward us, one on a bench, the other in a wheelchair. And, instantly, a song popped into my ears.
Simon and Garfunkel are the musical voices of my young adulthood. At seeing those men, the song “Old Friends” began to play in my head, and I was really tempted to surreptitiously take their photograph. (But it seemed intrusive.)
Meanwhile, in my head: “Can you imagine us years from today . . . sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be seventy.” I kept on humming, as Peter scootered over to the slides.
And, now, the song is back, wending its way around my hours and my days, even when I’m nowhere near a park bench, quietly or otherwise.
I’ve just turned seventy. And strange doesn’t even begin to describe it. Turning fifty didn’t bother me. Sixty didn’t seem inappropriate. Seventy is, actually, strange.
For quite some time, one of my knees hurts. It’s not excruciating, but, sometimes, it’s uncomfortable. My fingers are taking on a life of their own, skewing, swelling, refusing to bend. And my stylist doesn’t need nearly as much time to cut my hair as she used to. There’s just not as much hair there. I’m consistently turning the volume up, on the computer, the television, and my phone. (My sons’ mantra has become: “Get hearing aids!”)
“Seventy, thy name is OW!”
Of course, the reality is that not being 70 doesn’t mean being 50 or 60 again. Not being 70 means not being, at all. And, I’d rather postpone “not being, at all.”
Meanwhile, back in the late 60’s, I purchased both the record and the music for Simon and Garfunkel’s album Bookends, so I can enjoy the songs whenever I want to. Well, I can play the songs, assuming my fingers will cooperate. I don’t have a way to play the record. But, that’s what iTunes is for, right?
Listen to Me, house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been sustained from the womb, carried along since birth. I will be the same until your old age, and I will bear you up when you turn gray. I have made you, and I will carry you; I will bear and save you.
Isaiah 46:3-4 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)
Thanks be to God.