Two of us older guys, he my elder by at least several years, arguing strenuously about their space. This scene at the pool where I swim every day must have fascinated those who witnessed it.
He was swimming down the center of a wide lane reserved for people with handicaps. I was prepared to climb in myself and, in accordance with universal custom at the pool, share the lane with him.
As I started toward the ladder, however, the other fellow explained to me in no uncertain terms that he was doing backstrokes and could not guarantee my safety. I told him in reply that I was coming in anyway and would take it upon myself to stay out of his way.
That declaration threw him into a rage. As I climbed down the ladder, he stormed up edging me out of the way. Then I began swimming down the lane taking care to stay on the left side so that, if he wanted to reenter, he would have plenty of space.
But instead of getting back in, he walked down the side of the pool almost foaming at the mouth with anger as I swam, bitterly accosting me with profanity, using in particular one word that I cannot print here.
By contrast with him, I remained calm throughout but resolutely determined to exercise my right to one-half the lane. I found it easy to refrain from abusive language myself but was not above a couple of subtle verbal jabs.
My best line, admittedly the title of a recent book written by a colleague, was “Thank you for being such a pain.” Stunned by this rapier-like thrust, he could only reply by lamely throwing the same words back to me.
The fellow soon gave up, left me be, and went – – presumably to do his backstroke – – to another lane. But all during the rest of my swim, I had visions of him coming back and, in renewed fury, beating me about the head with a blunt object.
How should one evaluate this short but intense conflict between two older men? For me it raises issues that are different from those that would arise from such an encounter between two young guys.
That we could engage in such a duel breaks a certain stereotype of older people. As one writer, the psychologist Mary Pipher, observes: “The old are admired for not being a burden, for being chronically cheerful. They are expected to be interested in others, bland in their opinions, optimistic, and emotionally generous.”
Such a stereotype certainly fits neither me nor my antagonist. On that afternoon, at least, there was nothing bland about either of us, cheerful, nor, I fear, emotionally generous. We were acting with abandon, free from the expectations society has for people of a certain age.
For feeling free to enter the lists of conflict, I am thus tempted to award both of us points. Advancing age has not dulled in us the fires of irascible emotions. When provoked, each of us can rise to the occasion in ardent defense of what we see as our rights.
On sober reflection, however, the event appears more complicated. If age remains indeed free for the expression of emotion, still we elders are supposed to have grown enough in grace and wisdom to have established control over our feelings, especially our irascible ones.
No matter how we justify the exchange of nasty words, there remains something disedifying about seeing two people of mature years engaging in such a conflict. People who heard us going at it could reasonably feel let down by this spectacle. In some way we seem to have damaged society by resorting to violence, if only in words.
Haven’t we learned by now that disputes can be settled by peaceful means? Should we not, at least have been able to discuss the merits of our case without resorting to personal abuse?
As I left the pool that day I felt mixed: though I had said something unkind, I never resorted to abusive language. Throughout the fray I had remained completely calm. And I successfully claimed what I saw as my right.
But I recognized some failure too. I had violated my own code of personal ethics. I could not credibly claim to have loved my neighbor as myself. And there I was, supposedly a champion for the cause of older people, giving offense to one older than myself.
Like most other human experiences, this encounter was a mixed reality. It embodied both good and bad together. If I should happen to meet this unknown fellow again, preferably with our clothes on, perhaps we can talk calmly about what happened. We might be able to walk away from such a discussion as friends or, at least, no longer at enmity.
Richard Griffin