I once again found myself sitting in a designated activities room inside the British home; a local geriatric residency center that I and several peers volunteer at on Wednesday afternoons to entertain the residents. We had arranged all the available chairs in a huge, irregular elliptical shape that encompassed most of the room’s inner perimeter and as I sat there uneasily, I noticed I was seated across from two aged women. The one on the left was wearing tan pants and an ugly jacket whose color was probably one teal. To complement this she sported thick-soled white tennis shoes that were undoubtedly worn for comfort and convenience since they clashed with the rest of the ensemble. She was a proud woman, like someone who in her prime had experienced the joys of success. She did not seem older than sixty-five, and even then she seemed to be fit and quick-minded, as if time had taken a moderate toll on her body and even less on her mind.
I had visited the British Home more than fifty times, and even yet I did not remember her name…or anyone else’s for that matter – despite the fact that everyone introduces themselves at the beginning of each meeting. I was making a mental note to myself to mark names next time I heard them when suddenly the woman made eye contact with me. I realized I had been staring. I saw what I perceived to be an expression of disdain flash across her face ever so slightly and then her facial muscles relaxed to show no discernable disposition. It was an uncomfortable moment and I was contemplating how much longer I should maintain awkward eye contact. I feared that a rapid shift in my eyes might send a negative message. However I felt my hand inching towards my pocket to reach for my phone – as if I had official business to deal with – when she broke the connection. She shifted her body in her chair and now more of her right side was facing towards me. I got the message.
I focused on studying her friend. I did not know her name either. She was a much older woman, and the many wrinkles on her loose face gave the almost comical-but-sweet image of the generic grandmother who has a plate of warm cookies waiting for you as soon as you arrive to her house (the ones who prepare the cookies after you arrive are just inconsiderate). She was shorter. She wore a dark sweater with red shapes and black pants and to top it off she wore the same shoes at her friend (They were an epidemic here). Despite the fact that both women seemed to be friends of some sort, I couldn’t help but notice tension between them - as if they were friends out of necessity. The first woman seemed more commanding and rarely spoke, but when she did she did not waste a word. The second woman on the other hand was quieter and a bit more sedate – I couldn’t help but notice the book of crossword puzzles sticking out of a bag attached to the walker in front of her.
I glanced around the room and I watched as senior citizens hobbled in an attempted to sit down without missing their chairs. For a moment I thought about how convenient it must be for the senior citizens in wheelchairs since they have their seats with them at all times. This thought was quickly discarded as I saw that since the senior citizens in wheelchairs have their own seating, the chairs that were already in place were of no use and had to be removed, which is a pitiful thing to see a wheelchaired senior citizen attempt to do. I also realized that despite the convenience of always having a place to sit, the inconveniences are far more depressing. I did however make a note to myself to buy a wheelchair when I am of age, just for the fun of it.
The session was starting. Our sponsor, who was a teacher at our high school, called for everyone’s attention. Today we had another extracurricular group with us: the science club. I quickly glanced at all of its members and noticed that most of them, especially the leader, seemed nervous. I quickly prided myself on the fact that I was not so nervous, despite the uneasiness I felt being in a room filled with my inevitable future. As the sponsor talked about the two groups, I couldn’t help but get distracted with the view outside of the windows opposite of me. The fall colors were about as radiant as you would perceive them to be when you are somewhere you wish you were not. The tress swayed a bit and a shower of brightly colored leaves sprinkled the ground. I imagined myself outside in an endless field with the sun lightly brushing me, and the cool wind bringing the sweet smell of autumn into my nostrils. No worries. No school, just an endless supply of nirvana. The daydream was immediately terminated as I drew a connection between fall – being the time when things start to die – and the fact that at the very moment I was sitting in an old people’s home. It was my turn to state my name anyways, and with a forced smile I did so and turned to the geriaphobe science club leader sitting next to me to signify that it was her turn.
Undoubtedly science club was most likely going to discuss the broad term of “science” and possibly a little “technology” with the room full of people advanced in their years. This effort seemed futile as it had the potential to become a topic of one sided understanding. But what I did not see at the moment was that the room full of people advanced in their years could share something. They could share their outlook on the technology of their time…and unbeknownst to them open the door to deeper understanding.
We had been discussing the technology of their time for a while. I was taking it in stride and showing expression, but not meaning it. For a while I would pride myself on the fact that the technology of my time is far superior to that of their time. It was then that I heard the words “It’s like living in a different world” from the second woman in the dark sweater as she compared her time to ours. Her voice carried a tone of dismay. Her proud friend quickly agreed with her, but the message was still the same. They were living in a different world, a world that had changed very quickly throughout the last century.
Up until the 1980’s typewriters were still used. Ten years later computers reinforced their foothold on society. Ten years after that, computers have nearly dominated our lives. In ten years – which on a cosmic scale is nothing but a flash – the world has nearly transformed into a place that rivals those depicted in the science fiction novels of their time.
I then realized that along with technological advancement, that have also witnessed overt change. Many of them grew up in a time where America was segregated or when racism was more apparent. I looked back on the questionable look of disdain that I may have received from the first woman. I realized that while she may or may not have harbored ill feelings towards me based on my ethnicity, I could not necessarily blame her. I got to thinking again. Our society has changed and with the diminishment of racism, it has become far more livable than that of our forefathers. However is a dichotomy forming; a potential tear in our social tapestry? As more and more technology is produced, there is an increase in demand for these goods, and suddenly there is greater distinction between the haves and have-nots. People are no longer judged on the color of their skin, but is it possible that people are now judged based on material possession, especially when it comes to owning a popular, convenience-driven piece of technology? There seems to be a bad trend here.
For some time, as I am sure it is the same for others, I have pondered my future. The curse and benefit of youth is that you have innumerable possibilities by which to direct your life, but you don’t have the discipline to make an informed decision. It is your first time on Earth, it is your first time existing, and there is only one chance to decide. The only precedents you have to rely on were not made by you, but by other mystified youths who have long since withered into the elders of society.
It could be argued that with each generation information increases, and thus life’s most pressing issues will be readily resolved by the following generation. The fallacy with this is that while information increases the discipline needed to use it economically dwindles in the back of a selfish society’s consciousness.
I sat there thinking about the woman’s different world and how she expressed the shock of finding herself in ours. She suddenly seemed as an infant. This was her world before it was mine. It was her generation that shaped it before mine has been given a chance. It was her oyster before my grain of sand would seemingly create a pearl. I was full of pity, and I could only sit there and wonder what it felt like to see the world through her eyes. I imagined myself being in her position. I would be looking at all the young faces, knowing that I am nearing the end of my time and I would be hoping that despite the fact that my world is now gone, that these young people would continue to shape it for the better.
I sat there looking at her. I learned her name that day. Eunice.
