Hryts on Aging

By Volodymyr Kish

I have been thinking more than usual of late about the fact that I am rapidly approaching what is commonly, though not exactly welcomingly, known as my “senior years”. Although this awareness has been seeping into my consciousness on and off for the past decade or so, it was recently brought home forcefully when I became aware that I am shortly to become a grandfather for the first time.

Needless to say, I am overjoyed with the prospect of seeing a new Kish generation enter this world and extend the long historical line that ushered me and my son, and soon to be father, into existence. The birth of a new life is a monumentally joyous event for any family, one that evokes all kinds of hopes and possibilities, and I am moved beyond mere words at being at least genetically instrumental in helping bring this about.

Such an event also has a corollary effect though, which is proving to be a little unsettling, and that is the realization that being a “grandfather” carries all kinds of other implications towards one’s self-image, role and sense of place in society. Am I now to invest in a rocking chair, some comfortable cardigans, a pipe and spend my remaining days lost in nostalgia and memories of days long gone by?

As usual when I am perplexed with the complexities of life and the ways of the world, I turned to my dependable mentor Hryts from Pidkamin, whom I know for a fact has never been troubled by the fact that he has already seen more years go by than I likely ever will. It is true that the inhabitants of this idyllic little Halytskyi Eden do live to impressive ages, no doubt assisted by the rejuvenating properties of the local garlic and horseradish, effective defences against most microbial and viral assaults.

“Hrytsiu,” I began, “how old are you exactly?”

He chuckled heartily before replying – “Oh my, my young turnip, how old do you think I am?”

I hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Well… I am not sure. With you it’s hard to tell, but I know from your stories about growing up that you are older than I am.”

“Hmm!” he muttered and thought about that for a bit.

“Suppose I was to tell you that today I am forty five, though yesterday I was seventy seven and the day before that I was thirty two.”

“Aaaah… I am not sure I understand”, I replied.

“Of course not!” he shot back. “It’s all that processed junk food you eat – it causes your mind to produce processed, junk thinking. You do a lot of thinking, but very little understanding. How old you are has nothing to do with the chronological calculation of your age. How old you are is how old you think you are. Today, I feel like I am forty five, so for all intents and purposes, I am forty five. Yesterday, my lumbago was acting up and I felt like seventy seven, so for most of the day I was seventy seven.”

“Hmmm, I think I see what you are getting at…” I answered.

“Further,” he continued, “and even more importantly, people will treat you and respond to you according to how old you are projecting yourself. If you are behaving like a seventy year old, they will treat you like one. If you are acting like a forty year old, they will dance with you like a forty year old!”

“And, one more important thing - at your age you have one big advantage over those young whippersnappers of twenty or thirty. You can act their age and be accepted and even admired for it. But they can never act your age with any degree of credibility or approval.”

As usual, Hryts had hit the nail on the head and I spent the rest of the day being thirty seven.