Noun: A crusty irascible cantankerous old person full of stubborn ideas
A cantankerous person; an ill-tempered and disagreeable person.
A bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person
An ill-tempered person full of resentment and stubborn notions.
—Synonyms
grouch, crank, bear, sourpuss, crosspatch.
Whenever I envision a curmudgeon I think of an old, white-haired, wizened guy bent over his cane with a belligerent look on his face. Sort of like Carl Fredricksen; the old guy in the movie, “UP” who was so wonderfully characterized by Ed Asner. What a good movie that was; especially because of the way it portrayed this lonely old fellow. I think it was the very first full length cartoon that featured an elderly person as the main character.
I knew old guys like that as I grew up; the kind of guy we made fun of as kids because he wore his belt just under his ribs and couldn’t stand up straight if you waved a hundred dollar bill just above his nose. I think I was related to a lot of them, actually. My impression is that all of them had humongous noses. I have no idea why I thought this…
Back then I was sort of scared of that type of person; I figured they were angry so I stayed away from them lest it was something I had done that inspired their ire. (On the other hand, my maternal grandmother didn’t look angry – she always looked on the verge of tears and this was just as off-putting; maybe more so. I always felt she was going to collapse into fits of weeping if I didn’t gulp down all the food she set in front of me. This would explain how I got to look the way I do…but I digress…)
As I get older I start to understand Carl Fredricksen better and I’m somewhat ashamed of my ignorance and cruelty when I was that immortal young’un. I’ve learned the secret of getting old, and I’m here to share it with you. You can believe it or not, as you like – but some day you’ll know it too. See, what you do as you get older is slowly amass a collection of maladies and infirmities which someday will add up to more than your body can defend against, and that’s when you really start to die. No, don’t give me this philosophical crap about “as soon as you’re an adult you start to die.” When you’re in your 20s you’re immortal.
So take another look at Carl Fredricksen. The arthritis that bends him over and makes him walk with a cane didn’t happen because he wasn’t paying attention. It happened despite all his attempts to prevent it and only a daily intake of meds allows him to overcome the constant pain in his joints that slows him down and draws his eyebrows together. Think about that. Constant pain. Unforgiving, unrelenting, unmerciful pain; making a trip from the sofa to the bathroom an effort. Couple this with the reality of a witticism I read just today: “Inside every old person is a young person wondering what the f**k happened.” Maybe Carl’s prostate has swelled up, making going to the bathroom a trial. Maybe his digestion can no longer handle his favorite foods, resulting in Acid Reflux. Maybe he can no longer walk a mile without his feet making him pay for it for several hours after he finally sits down. And while Carl struggles to forgive his body for this betrayal he can’t help but remember how strong, energetic, virile and handsome he used to be. He’s been there. He’s done that. He’s survived. The only thing the poor man hasn’t learned to do is forgive his body
Sigh.
Be scornful if you will for this sad silverback. You’ll get there someday. Yeah, go ahead and deny it. Enjoy yourself. It’s going to catch up.
I bring this up to illustrate that if Carl’s become a curmudgeon, he’s earned every sarcastic remark, every stubborn refusal to follow the rules, and every unpleasant, anti-social action. He pays for it every day.
I admire curmudgeons, actually. They’ve learned some things the rest of us haven’t caught up with yet. Or maybe they’ve just followed the social rules for so long they don’t want to be bothered with them anymore. Maybe the depthless loneliness of having lost his soulmate has carved a large hole where Grandpa’s heart used to beat. Maybe the sight of her arthritis- distorted hands that used to be one of her best features makes Grandma so wildly sad she becomes short-tempered lest she submit to bottomless grief. Maybe the pain in them fuels her reluctance to knit little Tommy that scarf for his birthday or bake those cookies for the PTA. And maybe; just maybe she resents being treated like a clueless old biddy who knows nothing and in front of whom one doesn’t tell off-color jokes. Hey, chances are good that Granny was a hotter-than-hell number in her youth whose memories would turn YOU four different shades of embarrassed with one hand tied behind her back!
So I say HURRAH for curmudgeons! They take sh*t from nobody. They see through the patronizing and resent it, and tell you all about it. They’re in your face because they’ve been there and survived to come back and endure the twisting and failing and inequities of time. They fight back with every breath and if you’re in their way they just may tell you off in no uncertain terms. Stubborn? They’ve earned it. Bad-tempered? You would be too if you had to endure what they do every single day, and knew you would be looking forward to the same pain every day until the day you die. Disagreeable? Only if you want to impose your reality on theirs. They’ll argue about anything because they’ve already had that argument several times and know how to do it. Cantankerous? I rather think that indicates a certain strength of spirit, and I say Bravo!
A curmudgeon? Yeah. THAT’s what I want to be when I grow up.
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