Recently, at the pool where I swim every day, I was forcibly reminded of a hazard that sometimes comes with advancing age.

On that Saturday the pool was crowded, requiring swimmers to share lanes. Following protocol, I asked a man swimming in a lane near the wall if he would split it with me. He agreed and I jumped in without incident.

However, I soon discovered him to be taking more than half of the space available to us. Using the back stroke on each return, he would sweep his left arm into my area and, in the process, strike against me.

After two or three such encounters, I objected to having my space invaded so rudely. In doing so, I displayed only mild irritation.

In response, he turned his head toward me and suddenly said “You are a grumpy old man!”

This retort on his part left me flabbergasted, you might say even hornswoggled. Never did I expect this kind of response to what I considered a reasonable request.

“Grumpy” I could understand. Maybe there is a case for labeling me thus, though I had never heard it previously applied to me.

But “old man” is what astonished me.

For a gerontologist like me, there is nothing wrong with being called “old.” In fact, like my peers in the field of aging, I take it as an honor, almost an achievement. To have lived this long, I must have been doing something right.

Clearly, however, my unwanted adversary regards the word, not as a compliment, but as an insult. He was using “old” as an indictment of me, as a rejection of what I now am. And he was implying that I was grumpy, out-of-sorts, because that trait stereotypically goes with being old.

Later we had a further exchange in the locker room. There I approached him and told him I was not used to being the target of that particular insult. In a sharp retort, he suggested that I had deserved it, and then he stomped off.

Soon afterward, however, he returned, a bit hangdog, and told me that he took back “the age part.” This brief turnaround surprised me and stirred me to interpretative speculation.

Did he come to realize that his remark to me in the pool was ageist, discriminating against a person on the basis of his advanced years? Was he now ashamed of seeming to look down upon people older than he?

He was not taking back the grumpy part, but he apparently had come to regret the age part.

But what about the linkage between the two?  Did he still consider old men, by the very fact that they had grown old, to have grown grumpy as well? Was it, for him, a package deal?

Of course, he could have called me worse. The vocabulary is at hand and, had he so wished, he might have wielded heavier linguistic artillery.

Recently, I received a style guide designed to enlighten members of the media about their use of language applied to people in later life. This guide includes a list of no-nos, words and phrases that should never be used.

Among expressions to be avoided, the following stand out: Codger, Coot, Crone, Fogy, Geezer, Old Fart, Old Goat, Prune, and Vegetable. You may find it difficult to imagine anyone actually using such words of an aged person, but the list derives from a long history of verbal abuse on the basis of age.

My age peers may already have a low opinion of themselves because disparaging words are already embedded in out culture. But, to have them thrown in our faces is something else again. It does little for our self-regard.

In the matter of language, however, I do not want to be rigid. I believe in leaving space for occasional self-mockery. In some situations, at least, I find it acceptable to make fun of that incredibly mysterious process of growing old. What, ultimately, is more ridiculous than the fixes we sometimes find ourselves landing in?

The Brits, for their part, have a magazine called “The Oldie.” In it, the writers feel free to joke about people in later life. Their favorite word for the latter is “wrinklies.” This term would not be my favorite, but I do appreciate the value of sometimes making light of the signs of aging.

By and large, however, the kind of charge I encountered at the pool that day leaves a bad taste. Yes, it provided me with a fine anecdote to share with family and friends. In addition, I’m an aspiring gerontologist, a person who relishes experience that betrays cultural attitudes about aging.

Others, however, would likely take offense at such an accusation. They want to be valued for their age, not held up to ridicule. They are right and they deserve better.

Richard Griffin