Yes, old people hate me, too

Today I stopped briefly at a Dunkin Donuts to grab a cup of coffee. Yes, it's true, sometimes I'm unfaithful to my regular coffee buzz at Mayorga. This time, DD was right there and I had a splitting headache. Since the car accident, I've found that on days when my back is really killing me, I end up with brain thumping headaches that near migraine pain levels. They come on suddenly and with accompanying nausea to beat the band. Fortunately, I've discovered that a cup of coffee will quell at least a measure of the nastiness.

As I walked in, I noticed there was a motley group of eight or nine people - mostly men - in their 70s and 80s at one table and a pair of oldsters at another table. As I hobbled up to the register, the motley guys started to discuss me:

"Who'd wanna date that fatass?"
"Is she yer girlfriend, Bob?"
"Oh hell, not a chance!"
"Heh, she's my girlfriend, hahahah - just imagine screwing that!"
"Oh god, I'd get lost in the fat, haw haw haw!"

Ooh, y'all just stepped on the toes of the wrong fat chick.

While my coffee was being poured, I turned around to the table and stared at them. They went silent, like children who had just been caught with their hand so deep in the cookie jar it would take a hammer to break 'em out.

At full conversational level I addressed them:

"You know, just because I'm fat doesn't mean I'm deaf, and just because you're old doesn't mean you get a pass for being rude."

Several heads were bowed. Again, like children, caught.

The one woman in the group shrilly yelled, "I'm sorry, but we're old!"

I shook my head at them and said, "Oh, come on!"

One man quietly muttered, "I'm sorry." But no one said anything else.

I got my coffee and started to leave, but then, I stopped. I went over to their table and angrily spoke to them again. "You know, my mother was a veteran of the Second World War - she would be your age if she was still alive. And you know what? In her later years - to her dying day - she never believed that age gave you a right to be rude. And she never used her age as an excuse to say crap to anyone on the basis of their appearance. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

The other table of oldsters had been staring at them coldly throughout their mocking bullshit, and they continued to stare at them as I left.

When the clerk handed me my coffee, she told me they'd called her "white trash" earlier and she thanked me for having said something to them.

Look, I know there are cultures that respect older people simply for being old. I've worked in some of those cultures in Central Asia. And, when I'm there, I play by the local rules.

I'm not there now.

Here's my deal: whenever possible, I grant courtesy to the elderly. My heart aches when I see people dealing with the difficulties of age. I used to cry in Moscow when I saw grandmothers the age of my own mother, trying to survive by selling anything they could out on the street. Absolutely broke my heart.

But, respect? Now, respect is something I grant when warranted. There are plenty of lovely old people in this world. There are plenty of lovely young people in this world. There are plenty of lovely old and young people living good lives, doing good things, being good people. However, there are also a lot of arrested-development asshole-ish old and young people in this world. And frankly, I don't really care if you're twenty or fifty or eighty, you don't get my respect if you mock me (or call the clerk at the donut shop "white trash" for that matter.)

On the other hand, I'll show you what self-respect is about, buster. If you fought in World War II, you sure as hell know what standing up for decency is about. And being indecent to a stranger makes you look a complete fool.

And my mom will be waiting on the other side to kick yer ass.

Grrr!

Fiercely yours,

Merujo

Yeah, I cry over the Military History channel

Flipping channels tonight, I stopped on Military History when I saw they were running a doc on women pilots in combat. These women are the successors to my mother and her friends and colleagues - women flying B1 bombers, women flying off carriers, facing the same dangers the male combat pilots face. Earnest women - I see the same straightforward, common sense determination on their faces, in their voices, that I recall from my mother and from her fellow WASP when I met them at reunions.

The documentary ran a fairly lengthy segment on the WASP. I'm always squinting and scouring footage to see if I catch a glimpse of my mom. But, she was shy and not likely to make herself available for film. I got angry when the narrator spoke of the lousy Rush Limbaughs and Sean Hannity-types of the day who castigated the WASP as a joke, unworthy of military status, and even suggested they weren't "real" pilots. They even showed political cartoons of the era that mocked these amazing, brave women. I hadn't seen those before - they infuriated me.

But it was when the documentary returned to our day that I fell to pieces - as those earnest women, combat pilots, heirs to my mother's true estate, spoke of how much they owe the WASP for paving the way to the lives they lead, the careers they cherish.

That was cool. And a little heartbreaking. Wish Mom was here to have heard that.

Yep. I roll my eyes at most chick flicks and don't own a single pair of heels. But you catch me at the right moment, and I weep like a baby over the Military History channel.

And I watched football tonight.

Do I get an honorary "guy" card?

History rising from the ice

This is so cool. I think one of the best parts of the story is that the last surviving pilot from the mission will fly alongside for the first 100 miles or so. The Lost Squadron flies again!

Just really neat.