Steve Bellinger
When I was in my twenty-somethings, I worked as a cable TV technician. There was this guy named Jay, who was just this side of retirement. I would guess he was close to 70. Anyway, even though he sometimes had trouble keeping up with the newest technology, he was an expert on the basics; the stuff that doesn’t change. We’d run across some weird problem and he would know the answer, right away. He was an expert because he had over 50 years of experience. I recall watching him work and wishing I had his knowledge.
50 years later, I was a computer technician, the oldest member of the team. Myself only a few years from retirement. All of the technicians and engineers on the team were bright and capable. But a few times, something would come up that would be a head-scratcher. And often, it would be something I had experienced before. And I would come up with the answer. Much to their surprise.
I had become the old guy with all the experience and answers. Just like Jay.
I was sitting in the lounge at Union Station in Chicago, waiting to board a train to Grand Rapids. As I waited, they announced on the PA system that they were pre-boarding seniors and handicapped riders. It wasn’t until the third time they said it that I realized they were talking about me. What did I do? I got the hell up and got myself a window seat.
Yeah, I am finally that old guy that everyone looks up to, that everyone admires and nobody wants to be. I mean, what self-respecting 20- or 30-year-old would want to change places with a septuagenarian?
Well, I don’t feel old. Oh, I can’t do all the things I used to do when I was a young man. I can’t bowl 10 games in one night, I can’t beat everyone in the bar at table tennis, and I can’t do a 50-mile hike on my bike. But I still go bowling. I still like to play table tennis. And I still ride my bike—just not as far.
But new challenges and achievements come with advanced age. I was 65 when I my first novel was published (an award-winner!), I got married (a second time) at 57. I started writing screenplays at 70. And now at 75, I’m embarking on a new venture; the Spry Society. A chance to help other people at, near, or over my age to start living again.
Probably the coolest thing that has happened to me as I became a senior. I stopped giving a fuck. As a young black man who loved classical music, my soul brothers would ridicule me. I would get teased when, as an adult I would be caught watching Bugs Bunny, or The Three Stooges on TV. Now I don’t care what other people think. I watch what I want on TV. I’ll go to the movies to catch a kid’s animated feature. Hell, I sat through Bugs Bunny at the Symphony, where the Warner Brothers Orchestra played the music while the cartoons ran on a big screen. And I loved it.
I embraced my inner Trekkie. I attended conventions, wearing my Starfleet uniform while getting autographs from the stars.
I am doing now what I should have been doing when I was 20 or 30. But that was then, and this is now, and I am enjoying life, more than I did then. No more angst or peer pressure. If I want to watch re-runs of Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, then that’s my business.
I’ve learned to meld my past with the present; The Three Stooges look pretty cool on my 70-inch TV.
The lesson here? Wherever you are in life, just live it. If you can’t do the things you enjoyed as a kid, find something else. Make friends, young and old. Do the things you’ve always wanted to do. My wife, who is 70, is planning on going skydiving with our daughter.
And I’ll be right there–on the ground–cheering them on.
–Steve Bellinger, CNO