I have been volunteering my time at a Salvation Army lately, because I don’t have a job and the State prefers I do something to receive cash assistance. I can’t really blame them; I certainly have never expected to get something for nothing, though it is a little disappointing that even our social services are so incredibly capitalist. That however is a whole different post.
At the Salvation Army Family Store there is a well represented cross section of poverty stricken people. Some obviously struggle with language barriers while others’ struggle is with a fixed income. Still others are in my position: being single and/or unemployed, or underemployed, parents that simply cannot afford the necessities of life the way the world of retail commonly presents them. And of course there are those who are simply buying what they can find for the money their parents gave them, or that they earned at their after school jobs. High School, I think, is its own form of poverty. That too, however, is a subject for another day.
In the category of those on a fixed income I see the older people who come into the store. I quietly watch them, as I watch everyone, shop slowly and chat with the regular employees of the store while I rack some clothes and “rag out” others. They don’t trust me; I’m new and unfamiliar. I don’t wonder how I would respond if any one of them should chance to speak to me, because they wouldn’t… not yet anyway. I have found over the years that older people are more wary of the unfamiliar than we who are still energetic enough to deal with anything negative that may come of exploring. I think that there are fewer surprises in old age, which seems like the only logical conclusion. I hear them speak as though they’ve seen everything there is to see in a human being. They talk about one person’s niece, or another’s son, or someone else’s grandkid in a very matter-of-fact way that finalizes any judgment passed. And it seems to me that when they laugh it is often hollow and sarcastic… as though there is some painful memory of a distant time and a similar situation in which they find a mocking sort of comfort. I’ve heard it with my ears many times in this setting: that humorless laugh. And perhaps it is partly the fault of setting. The weariness of poverty and the lack of control over one’s own financial situation can certainly be disheartening. These persons of considerable age do not seem cynical to me… but in there laugh there is a knowing ironic undertone that gives them away. I tried to remember a time or place in which some older person I know or knew had a deep and sincere belly laugh, and couldn’t think of a single one. I may have covertly heard more proof that Santa Clause is a fairy tale. (Shhhh…. don’t tell anyone) There are likely many people who wouldn’t even notice (in fact, it is an absolute certainty that there are; I could go on for days about the things people don’t notice, and have chosen to start here I suppose), but I spend so much of my time watching and listening that it jumped readily to my ears and prompted thoughts about my own age.
I am only 30. I am not old, but I am not so young anymore either. Aside from a childhood in which I was adequately provided for, I have been poor my entire life. Always lacking some portion of what society considers necessary. Be it a roof, or food, or proper clothing (which are all basic necessities) or a telephone, running and/or hot water, heat and air, or lights and refrigeration, or the many more easily overlooked things, there is always something lacking and has been for 15 years or more. I wonder if I notice the tinge of cynicism in the laugh of the elders because I hear it in my own laugh sometimes and am well aware of its roots. Then I wonder if when I am one of the old ones my true laugh will have dwindled and died completely leaving only that sardonic chuckle. Will I then move through my existence as I do now, simply taking life as it comes and doing what I can? Or will this coping mechanisms lack of productive effort have worn me down to an angry bitter old lady? I suppose there’s a chance that I will find success somewhere in the future. If that happens, will that certain chuckle come only when that “painful memory of a distant time and a similar situation” comes bringing the comfort of knowing that I have overcome? Or will I find some lasting happiness that drowns out the cynicism spawned by life’s earlier disappointments? I have so many questions about what further life may bring. I am anxious to be old and find these answers… but that is likely just my youth talking.
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