I assume our attitude to old people has arisen because, in western society, we tend to place an implicit value on people according to their physical attractiveness, perceived productivity and, by extension, their income. The majority of elderly don't score massively highly in any of these areas, and tend to slip under the radar.
I tend to get the "stunned" response too, when I meet someone old who confounds these expectations and reminds me that, to paraphrase ol' Jarv, one day they were just like me. That moment of shocked recognition goes double when they talk about feeling sexually driven - still something of a social taboo.
Examples: a sixtysomething patient of mine who was a minor player in literary circles in the 1960s. When I visit her in her West London upper-floor flat (and former studio), she's surrounded by a life's accumulation of artworks, photographs, mementoes... and it's like talking to some faded icon from another era. She's maintained the attitudes of the 'Love Generation' but laments the fact that she can't find a gentleman friend her own age (the younger ones, she tells me, have a certain "chemical" attraction but bore her). She reminds me of Edith from 'The Invisibles'.
I'm also good friends with a seventy-year-old ex-theatre director and designer of the perviest bondage gear you can imagine. His particular fetishes have always veered toward the wilder fringes of sexual desire, and he's a mine of fascinating anecdotes about SM homosexuality pre-decriminalisation. He seems to have met everyone from John Osborne to Salvador Dali, but is frustratingly discreet about their sex lives.
I think we're guilty of forcing the elderly into 'mainstream' categories, assuming their lives have (give or take the odd war or two) followed an average job-marriage-kids-retirement-grandkids course, with sex, drugs and rock & roll falling away after the age of, ooh, forty-odd. We're guilty of stereotyping, forgetting that human nature is weirder, more convoluted than that... |