“It is so comic to hear oneself called old, even at ninety I suppose!” Alice James
When I had attention I didn’t appreciate it. I remember complaining at the way men stared. I especially resented the standard, “Hey, sweetie”. I bristled at pet names from strangers and sometimes got mouthy when I was referred to as “Hon”.
Of course, that changed. An invisibility cloak became part of my wardrobe at a “certain” age. It matched everything. It was always with me. Well, perhaps not when I visited my 95-year-old stepmother at the rehabilitation center. Some men there were old enough and still well enough to look up and see me. But my cloak was a basic. I never left home without it.
Interestingly, even after I donned the cloak I could look in the mirror and say, “Not so bad”. I thought I was looking pretty damn good. I realize now, tho, that the addendum had always to be (for my age). I didn’t see heads turning unless I was walking with my daughters. I just didn’t warrant male admiration or even notice.
My invisibility became a comfort to my husband when I traveled. Since men have to be frail and using a cane to go unnoticed, he didn’t quite believe it at first. We would do experiments on the street. “See”, I would say as men looked over my head and across the street, “there’s a built-in radar that knows women have lived through their 40s and 50s. It skips right over them without a blip.”
That used to insult me.
Well, be careful what you wish for. I’m back on the radar now because my hair is white. I’m “Hon” again. But this time around I get offers to help with my bags. When I stumble over the curb there isn’t even a hint of a snicker; everyone clusters around me. “Are you SURE you’re okay?”
Funny how we change. I would love to have my invisibility cloak again. Maybe I only appreciate attention when I don’t get it.
xxoo
A Letter to my Children 