Invisible

An unwelcome super-power

As children, we all hoped that we could have one or more of the powers of our comic-book heroes - X-ray vision, super strength, or the ability to be invisible to those around us. I have finally gained that magic superpower. I have become invisible. Unfortunately, the comic books omitted some crucial fine print regarding this particular ability. It is not as wonderful as I had imagined. Remarkably, many people develop this ability. All it takes is to stay around past our ‘use-by-due-date-or-freeze’. It is commonly known as aging.

Becoming invisible is a rather gradual phenomenon, like losing your hair or forgetting where you put your car keys. It creeps up, almost unnoticed, and then one day you discover you no longer exist – at least not to anyone under the age of 50. This epiphany came one evening after attending a workshop that my son had organized in Jackson Hole to engage young community members in conservation issues and local politics. After the session, we all adjourned to a neighborhood pub for a beer. I transformed into furniture, and not the kind that anyone wants to sit on. No one spoke to me. I was a wallflower. The best I heard was - “So you are Craig’s dad - nice.” Not even "Craig's cool dad" or "Craig's distinguished father." Just... nice. I was reduced to a footnote in my own son's story

I do understand that there is some animosity from the Gen-Xers and Millennials towards the Baby-Boom generation, of which I am a founding member. And I admit that we screwed things up rather badly, but I don’t feel that I should take all the blame. The title of P.J. O’Rourke’s book sums it all up quite nicely: “The Baby Boom: How it got that way ....and it wasn’t my fault.... and I’ll never do it again.” We're like the generation that threw the party and forgot to clean up afterward, but also gave you the internet, GPS, some questionable fashion, and microwave popcorn, so we're not entirely without merit.

I don't believe generational resentment was the only issue at play that evening. It was more a sense that none of our experience, none of the hard-earned wisdom we've accumulated over seven decades, including how to fold a fitted sheet and the optimal technique for opening pickle jars, has any currency at all. Our knowledge isn't just irrelevant; it's treated like we're carriers of some contagious condition. "Oh no, here comes someone with actual life experience— pretend you're checking your phone!"

This may sound a bit paranoid, but over the past few years, I have witnessed this scenario play out repeatedly - at cocktail parties, various celebrations, and other gatherings where multiple generations are forced to interact. At cocktail parties, I've become the human equivalent of the cheese and crackers table – present, but overlooked unless someone's desperate. I have noted it in the locker rooms of fitness centers, where one is looked upon as a freak, as if we should not be exercising at our age. One day in the gym, a young fellow remarked to me as I sweated and grunted, “Wow, I hope that I will still be working out like that at your age.” Faint praise indeed.

On many occasions, there is not even acknowledgment of one’s presence - no greeting, or a smile. Somehow, eye contact has disappeared, as if it is embarrassing to notice a senior. I see this regularly when getting into an elevator or waiting in line. And I have yet to be offered any help when struggling to stow my carry-on luggage, or even offered a seat on a crowded bus. The old-fashioned ethic that we were raised with, regarding how to treat those who have reached the age of wisdom, has largely evaporated.

It would be unfair to paint entire generations with the same brush (though I reserve the right to paint them with slightly judgmental watercolor). There are still many wonderful younger folks who are generous, caring, and continue to show consideration for others. They're like rare Pokémon cards – delightful when you find them, but not exactly common. Unfortunately, they no longer comprise the majority of their cohort, having been outnumbered by those who think basic courtesy is optional.

We no longer sit at the feet of our elders, listening to their stories, adventures, discoveries, and insights, absorbing a little of their wisdom. I still recall the days with my grandfather as we walked together to watch a sporting event and he would drop a few pithy aphorisms, such as ‘it’s not what you know, but who you know’ or ‘it’s just as easy to fall in love with someone with money as it is with a pauper’. We often ignored the advice – teenagers have been deaf to adult wisdom since the dawn of time – but we never discounted it entirely. We at least pretended to listen, which is more courtesy than most seniors get today.

We may have forgotten to teach them basic manners and civility along the way. We were so busy being revolutionary and breaking tradition that we forgot to pass along some of the useful traditions, such as saying "please" and "thank you," and occasionally helping people with their luggage. It might be our fault after all.

This invisibility cloak completely disappears when we are surrounded by peers. One of the unexpected pleasures of living in a 55-plus community is that we're all connected by our common vintage—not unlike a fine wine club where everyone has aged to perfection (or at least to a point where we're all equally creaky. Here, we are visible to each other, making eye contact, smiling, acknowledging, and greeting each other like civilized human beings. We remember each other's names (most of the time), laugh at each other's stories (even the ones we've heard before), and treat each other like people rather than decorative plants.

Those brilliant souls who established communities like Sun City may have understood this dynamic perfectly – they created places where being older doesn't make you invisible, just more interesting. It's the single most important reason we moved here. It’s like discovering that our superpower isn't invisibility after all – it's the ability to be seen and appreciated by people who get the joke.

Who knew that the secret to becoming visible again was finding the right audience?