Editor’s note: This commentary is by Walt Amses, a writer who lives in North Calais.
“I don’t see why there should be a point where everyone decides you’re too old. I’m not too old, and until I decide I’m too old, I’ll never be too bleeping old.”
— Lemmy Kilmister – Motorhead
It is generally understood that people who are stupid think they’re smart, or minimally, don’t realize how stupid they are, mainly because they’ve over estimated their intelligence. Like other mouldering baby boomers, I’ve learned that this also applies to age or as I prefer, chronologically enhanced wisdom. Our status apparently hasn’t sunk in yet. When we hear someone referred to as “elderly,” we begin scanning the room, thinking “where?” We don’t see the writing on the wall because we refuse to wear bifocals.
There’s a scene in “Godfather II” where Fredo Corleone pleads his case to younger brother Michael on a gray, snowy afternoon at Lake Tahoe. As it becomes apparent his pleas are falling on deaf ears, he desperately shrieks: “I’m smaaaaat, not like everybody says … dumb.” Movie buffs go back to that scene for a variety of reasons, not least because it was John Cazale’s “I coulda been a contendah moment.”
Fredo though, actually is dumb, he just doesn’t know it because, well … he’s too dumb. Based on Michael’s facial expression he’s also dead. He apparently doesn’t know that either. But Fredo has plenty of company. So much so that there’s even a name for what ails him other than canary, dupe, cheese eater, or snitch.
When Charles Darwin wrote in “The Descent of Man” that “Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge,” he was inadvertently describing the Dunning-Kruger Effect, wherein people believe themselves to be smarter and more capable than they really are, largely based on the combination of poor self awareness and low cognitive ability. Social psychologists David Dunning and Justin Kruger explained that “If you’re incompetent, you can’t know you’re incompetent,” mainly because such recognition would require the very competence you lack – and you have little insight into your own incompetence.
The thing is, both old and dumb are largely undeniable, which doesn’t come close to shutting down the desire to be younger or smarter; we usually want both. However, you can’t simply pave over the evidence like a potholed street, but not for lack of trying. I submit Wayne Newton as Exhibit A. Possibly even more distressing than Mr. Las Vegas’ freshly sanded mannequin look, is what feels like an aesthetic merger of Sylvester Stallone, Dustin Hoffman and Arnold Shwartzenegger, who appear to have become almost interchangeable — like sculptures rendered in fresh pork by the same drunken artist. Luckily, cosmetic interventions gone amok are financially out of reach for most of the general public so we continue to look like ourselves for better or worse.
While there’s not an awful lot we can do to mitigate dumb, the old cliche “You’re only as old as you feel,” has some basis in reality according to Psychology and Aging, which posits that — like everyone else on the planet — many of us with one-way-tickets to the bone yard would benefit from a more positive self image. Since older adults are sometimes depicted or perceived as senile, incompetent and unattractive, it’s no wonder they feel devalued and resort to hair dyes, cosmetic surgery and a plethora of anti-aging cosmetics or medications that do little to change the equation.
Full disclosure: I’ve altered my own appearance somewhat after an encounter with my long-dead grandmother 10 years ago at a Church Street coffee shop as the trajectories of my age and mental acuity intersected, just for a moment. At first glance I thought it was a flashback to a previous, chemically enhanced version of me, or a textbook example of how sanity hangs by the slenderest of threads. If it happened today I’d probably need to be institutionalized. I was struck momentarily dumb — the other dumb — no small feat, but there she was, staring back at me, even making eye contact. Did she recognize me too? It was eerie.
I stopped my wife and said, “You gotta see this,” but when I turned back, Baba was gone, replaced by a seemingly normal looking, middle-aged woman. As I was staring at her and she back at me, I shifted six inches to my right and as if by magic … Baba reappeared and it slowly dawned on me as I deconstructed the image … the flouncy locks of gray … the shape of the nose … the distinctively drooping Polish cheeks … It’s not a simple thing you know, coming to terms with having mistaken yourself for your own grandmother. Particularly if you’re male.
Coupled with having already noticed that my hair had gotten so gray it seemed to emit its own illumination, providing me with an aura of sorts in group photographs that made me look worthy of canonization, I decided to insure this would never happen again. I began shaving my head every couple of days, figuring with the addition of a small goatee, I’d feel better about being mistaken for a jazz musician rather than Santa Claus or Gandalf.
Who cares about age anyway? At least I’m still smaaaaart.
