I’ve been having a frank conversation with a dear friend who just turned 60–we’ve been noticing the different ways our culture tells us we lose value as we age. How we’ve been reminded all our lives about the benefits of being young and the disadvantages of life once we’ve been around a certain number of years. It’s all baloney, in my opinion, but exposure to these messages over a period of decades does have an effect.
Our cultural attitudes toward aging are reflected in the language available to describe people over 60; we can safely refer to ourselves as being in “middle-age” until then. Thanks to new health care innovations that enable humans to live ever longer, this category continues to widen. But ten years ago, as I inched toward 60, I remember hesitating about how to describe myself. I didn’t like most of the options then and still don’t.
Consider these descriptors:
Elderly- I’ll never forget the irate response my cousin’s extremely fit wife had when a premed student participating in the EMT training they were both taking referred to her as an “elderly woman.” She threatened to punch anyone who dared do it again.
I grew up thinking of elderly people as frail and forgetful–you can call me that when I’m 90, although, come to think of it, I know 90-year-olds who are more “with it” than some of my peers.
Older person—I know we look for easy ways to identify others, especially when we’re in a hurry. But older than what? Than whom—35-year-olds? I was older than my sister when I was three.
I’m always wearing some type of clothing when I appear in public, so why not focus on that? What’s wrong with “the lady in the orange pants” or “that woman rocking the cool-looking Stetson.”
Senior—I have a much milder reaction to this term. One could even argue it carries built-in status, as in “high school senior” or “senior management.” But again, when exactly does one become senior in age? Often, a cashier will ask almost apologetically whether I’m eligible for the senior discount. I think that means I’m supposed to share the embarrassment.
Geezer - I like this funny-sounding word because it doesn’t connote a loss of power. In fact, there’s something respectable about living long enough to be called a geezer.
In spite of its dictionary definition–a cranky old man–I don’t feel cranky about being a geezer. Maybe it’s because I bristle at the pejorative female equivalents: battleax, hag, harpy, biddy, fishwife, witch, to name a few. In my personal circle the term crone refers to a wise woman–I don’t mind being perceived as wise. But since many, if not most, women find it offensive, that word won’t do either.
Recently, I began to question my comfort level with geezer so I did some research to see whether anyone, anywhere, felt the same way. Imagine my delight when I found a recent Psychology Today article by Scott Eberle, PhD, who took a light-hearted view toward geezer after a university dean he knew and admired argued that the word should be genderless!
What’s the Feminine Form of “Geezer”?
And just like that, I found the permission I sought to use the word I like most. (Why I need that kind of permission is a topic for another day.) From now on, I’m a Geezer with a capital G.