Where they send Brazilians to die

The last census indicated 30% of Copacabana is over 60 years old. Warm climate, lots of pharmacies. Armies of them. Blue hair, no hair, hearing aids, walking canes and a huge sense of entitlement.

They count out the exact change in the supermarket line... in nickels and dimes. They hobble as fast as glaciers down the narrow sidewalk when I need to get somewhere. They stroll down the street in skimpy bathing suits displaying their little sagging old man butts. They complain incessantly about every little thing about my apartment in our building (we've got oldies to the side, above and below... Christ)

I found myself annoyed. I found myself angry. I found myself questioning their worth and contributions to society.

This is how prejudices begin.

Thoroughly disturbed by that realization, I sat down and noted a few things. First, I am not old, but I hope to be so one day. Secondly, being old is not exactly easy from a physical or emotional point of view. Finally, I get mad at people for prejudice against race, religion, gender, etc. SO WHY IS AGE ANY DIFFERENT? It's not.

I'm pursuing a policy of taking a deep breath and aspiring to compassion when, for example, this morning the poor thing shouted at the cashier, "HOW MUCH IS IT?" rummaged in her pocketbook and then shouted again, "HOW MUCH?"

It might have taken 15 minutes for her to check out, but really what does it matter? She is a person with all her hopes, dreams and fears just like me. She might be a little more rickety but who can say what strength and wisdom hides in that frail, hunch-over frame?