Friday, February 9, 2007
I grant you, yes,
there's loads of humor out there about aging. An acquaintance of mine sends me weekly "funny forwards", a good portion of which have to do with becoming older. None of them, yet, though, have talked about being truly old...like my mother, like the parents for whom you're performing sentry duty while they are able to remain at home, like the elders who are warehoused in what are often described as tasteful, well-appointed, uncrowded facilities with at least a few excellent staffers per shift (this, I've come to discover, is a pretty standard description of facility care, despite what the relatives of those who come to this really think about the provisions).
Once in awhile, too, I've run across some brave humor by bloggers: Bailey was good at this; Paula had some stuff, too, and Mike recently hinted here at a conversation he had with one of his relatives in which he "suggested, only half-jokingly, that we ought to tell dad to 'grow up and act like a man'." Yes, I laughed when I read this. It hit very close to home. It resembles many bits of conversations I used to have more frequently with my sisters regarding Mom's belief that she can do something that she can't and our takes on what would happen if I simply stepped back and let her attempt what she is convinced she can do. I've indulged in Ancienthood humor not only with my sisters but with my mother, i.e., the Paddywhacked post. Obviously, I engage Mom in a different type of situational humor than I do my sisters. Mom probably wouldn't understand the humor of a whacked-out, imaginative dissertation on what might happen if I allowed her to, for instance, cook a meal or go through the boxes in her closet unsupervised.
Often in blogs, I've noticed funny bits are published with an advance defense and, more often than not, someone comments that, yes, it's okay to turn elder caregiver agonies into moments of fun, even to the point of assigning the butt of the joke to the elders; it's necessary. The defenses stand witness to our continued hang ups about it. Although I admit I'm not particularly well read or well informed regarding comedy (not that I'm not interested, I'm pretty much your typical audience, though, busy with other things, pushing comedy into the corner to which I am occasionally able to relax, but only occasionally), I doubt that there are many people scrupulously mining this vein, which is probably why Sarah Silverman's homage to the really, really old is at once shocking and comedic. She pokes nasty fun at the old and what we think of and about the old, which evolves into a scene at a funeral in which the character Silverman plays for that segment rages against an Ancient One at rest in her casket. As I watched this, I realized that the rage her character expresses is, in part, rage against the mutation of old age that appears to disallow any attempt to heal relationships, come to mutual understanding and laugh at and with each other as we discover our foibles.
During another segment, overtly focused on prejudice and its bywords, she speculates that we have trouble making any kind of fun of that which we fear. It's a brilliant section; rent the DVD and watch it. This is what I think happens when we contemplate getting old. I've met lots of people who look forward or to, at least, bravely and with hopeful relief, work themselves into an attitude of compromise with getting older. I've never known anyone, except two of my sisters, who jokes about the possibility of being Ancient and demented. Even in this instance, the joke is on me, as they posit that as I companionate and care for our mother, I am gaining valuable experience that will allow me to take care of all three of my sisters when they reach fey old age. Funny for them. Unsettling for me. Although, I always laugh. Because, well, it is funny.
It's nothing new to say that we are, overall, afraid of advanced aging, regardless of how often we are able to sentimentalize what appears to us to be the plight of our Ancient Ones. This is the reason we are so concentrated, right now, on changing, rather than accommodating, the fact of Old Age, either from within or without. We are not interested in becoming our parents, our grandparents. Adding Advanced, demented aging to our list of topics about which it is okay to be funny, though, well, that's something pretty new.
It has always been the job of the court jester to make fun of pride and fear so we can get over ourselves and get on with a less stunted life. The court jester, as it turns out, is usually the least vulnerable member of the court, chiefly because hilarious offense is expected, even desired as a kind of hard wisdom; as long as it emits only from the mouth of the jester. When it comes to really ticklish subjects, the ones about which the man on the street has trouble joking, though, anyone on the floor besides the jester who attempts humor is likely to lose their head.
As I watched the segment to which I posted the above link, I wondered how many people have watched it and winced, realizing, "Ohmigod, that's exactly what I was thinking...:
Jesus Is Magic also contains a segment in which she points out that, if you have to explain it, it isn't funny. I fear I have more than breached this commandment. So, let me end by saying, I salute you, Sarah Silverman, for going where most of us are afraid to go...and doing it with both the audacity and gentility of the treasured and esteemed court jester. Pay attention, people, and prepare yourself for The Reimagining of Ancienthood.
POST SCRIPT: Oh, in the meantime, if you're aware of any humor about being Ancient and demented/disabled, classic or recent, Shakespearean or Shakes-the-Clownean, reference them on your blogs, post them as a comment here...I'm sure, knowing human nature, we've done this before, I'm just not sure when and where.
Once in awhile, too, I've run across some brave humor by bloggers: Bailey was good at this; Paula had some stuff, too, and Mike recently hinted here at a conversation he had with one of his relatives in which he "suggested, only half-jokingly, that we ought to tell dad to 'grow up and act like a man'." Yes, I laughed when I read this. It hit very close to home. It resembles many bits of conversations I used to have more frequently with my sisters regarding Mom's belief that she can do something that she can't and our takes on what would happen if I simply stepped back and let her attempt what she is convinced she can do. I've indulged in Ancienthood humor not only with my sisters but with my mother, i.e., the Paddywhacked post. Obviously, I engage Mom in a different type of situational humor than I do my sisters. Mom probably wouldn't understand the humor of a whacked-out, imaginative dissertation on what might happen if I allowed her to, for instance, cook a meal or go through the boxes in her closet unsupervised.
Often in blogs, I've noticed funny bits are published with an advance defense and, more often than not, someone comments that, yes, it's okay to turn elder caregiver agonies into moments of fun, even to the point of assigning the butt of the joke to the elders; it's necessary. The defenses stand witness to our continued hang ups about it. Although I admit I'm not particularly well read or well informed regarding comedy (not that I'm not interested, I'm pretty much your typical audience, though, busy with other things, pushing comedy into the corner to which I am occasionally able to relax, but only occasionally), I doubt that there are many people scrupulously mining this vein, which is probably why Sarah Silverman's homage to the really, really old is at once shocking and comedic. She pokes nasty fun at the old and what we think of and about the old, which evolves into a scene at a funeral in which the character Silverman plays for that segment rages against an Ancient One at rest in her casket. As I watched this, I realized that the rage her character expresses is, in part, rage against the mutation of old age that appears to disallow any attempt to heal relationships, come to mutual understanding and laugh at and with each other as we discover our foibles.
During another segment, overtly focused on prejudice and its bywords, she speculates that we have trouble making any kind of fun of that which we fear. It's a brilliant section; rent the DVD and watch it. This is what I think happens when we contemplate getting old. I've met lots of people who look forward or to, at least, bravely and with hopeful relief, work themselves into an attitude of compromise with getting older. I've never known anyone, except two of my sisters, who jokes about the possibility of being Ancient and demented. Even in this instance, the joke is on me, as they posit that as I companionate and care for our mother, I am gaining valuable experience that will allow me to take care of all three of my sisters when they reach fey old age. Funny for them. Unsettling for me. Although, I always laugh. Because, well, it is funny.
It's nothing new to say that we are, overall, afraid of advanced aging, regardless of how often we are able to sentimentalize what appears to us to be the plight of our Ancient Ones. This is the reason we are so concentrated, right now, on changing, rather than accommodating, the fact of Old Age, either from within or without. We are not interested in becoming our parents, our grandparents. Adding Advanced, demented aging to our list of topics about which it is okay to be funny, though, well, that's something pretty new.
It has always been the job of the court jester to make fun of pride and fear so we can get over ourselves and get on with a less stunted life. The court jester, as it turns out, is usually the least vulnerable member of the court, chiefly because hilarious offense is expected, even desired as a kind of hard wisdom; as long as it emits only from the mouth of the jester. When it comes to really ticklish subjects, the ones about which the man on the street has trouble joking, though, anyone on the floor besides the jester who attempts humor is likely to lose their head.
As I watched the segment to which I posted the above link, I wondered how many people have watched it and winced, realizing, "Ohmigod, that's exactly what I was thinking...:
- ...when I visited my dad last Wednesday."
- ...when I attended my grandmother's funeral."
- ...when I either accepted or refused the responsibility of pinch hitting for my sibling who is my great aunt's full time caregiver."
Jesus Is Magic also contains a segment in which she points out that, if you have to explain it, it isn't funny. I fear I have more than breached this commandment. So, let me end by saying, I salute you, Sarah Silverman, for going where most of us are afraid to go...and doing it with both the audacity and gentility of the treasured and esteemed court jester. Pay attention, people, and prepare yourself for The Reimagining of Ancienthood.
POST SCRIPT: Oh, in the meantime, if you're aware of any humor about being Ancient and demented/disabled, classic or recent, Shakespearean or Shakes-the-Clownean, reference them on your blogs, post them as a comment here...I'm sure, knowing human nature, we've done this before, I'm just not sure when and where.
Comments:
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Originally posted by Karma: Sat Feb 10, 11:36:00 AM 2007
I can't find where the post is, but Mom says some funny things sometimes. I do remember her telling me once that she was in the office (of her ALF) because she is working now as a secretary.
I think its the covering things up moments that can be the funniest. I mean maybe its sick to laugh at it, but you have to have a sense of humor. And its good to keep them talking.
Originally posted by Paula: Wed Feb 14, 08:41:00 AM 2007
Thanks for the link, Gail. I get those forwarded emails, too - mostly from my sister in NM, who has no idea about the dailiness of caring for our mother. Anyway, just stopped in to say hi - I've been absent but certainly thinking about all of my fellow bloggers and caretakers.
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I can't find where the post is, but Mom says some funny things sometimes. I do remember her telling me once that she was in the office (of her ALF) because she is working now as a secretary.
I think its the covering things up moments that can be the funniest. I mean maybe its sick to laugh at it, but you have to have a sense of humor. And its good to keep them talking.
Originally posted by Paula: Wed Feb 14, 08:41:00 AM 2007
Thanks for the link, Gail. I get those forwarded emails, too - mostly from my sister in NM, who has no idea about the dailiness of caring for our mother. Anyway, just stopped in to say hi - I've been absent but certainly thinking about all of my fellow bloggers and caretakers.
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