Live Long, Die Short (30 page)

The soul is healed by being with children
.
—FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY

W
alt Disney Studios has given us two markedly different views of the relationship between children and older adults in two award-winning animated movies: 1942’s
Bambi
and the 1994 blockbuster
The Lion King.
In the well-known story of Bambi, a young deer attempts to survive in the forest after the death of his mother with the help of some wise and playful young friends and a distant, yet all-powerful stag called the Great Prince of the Forest. The Great Prince remains aloof, swooping in when he’s needed most, to tell Bambi he won’t be able to be with his mother anymore and to save him from a pack of wolves, but then disappearing to live his own life, leaving Bambi to his own devices. It is apparent that the Great Prince believes the young deer will learn the lessons of life in the school of hard knocks. Bambi has adventures, learns how to survive, and eventually grows to adulthood.

I first saw
Bambi
as a very young child of five and was confused by the unwillingness of the Great Prince to teach Bambi all that he needed to know. The stag could have told him where to find water, good food, and safe places to rest or how to avoid predators. Why didn’t he stay with Bambi and make his world so much safer? I also wanted to know more
about the older buck. How did he get to be the Great Prince? What battles had he had? How had he survived? What happened to his parents? But my questions were left unanswered and I felt fearful throughout most of the movie. (In the 2006 sequel,
Bambi II
, the relationship is less mysterious. The Great Prince tells Bambi that he will grow stronger and more resilient alone; ultimately, he becomes a loving parent to Bambi. Perhaps the angst of generations of young children finally made its way to the screenwriter.)

Now, as a grandfather, I look back on
Bambi
and have a changed point of view. Seeing the movie through the eyes of the older deer rather than Bambi’s, I recognize the loneliness and isolation of the Great Prince. I know that if he could overcome whatever stiff and sterile notions he had of the relationship between older adults and children, there would be a treasure trove of wonder, optimism, joie de vivre, and forgotten values waiting for him. There would be the opportunity to play again, to shed the imposed and self-inflicted burdens of adulthood, and to be once more in
this
moment, with
this
child, sharing
this
gift of life, with nothing else to complicate that simple truth. With nothing else to cause him to pass adult judgment on the moment; to pull his thoughts away; to cause him to succumb to the siren voices of responsibility calling him toward the rocky shore of life without children, calling him to his own emotional death. I feel empathy and pity for the Great Prince of 1942, and celebrate his triumph in the enlightened 2006 sequel.

In
The Lion King
we have some similarities: Simba is a young lion making his way in the world under the watchful eye of an adult Lion King and some wise and playful friends. The Lion King has responsibilities and maintains a regal posture, even swooping in to save the young lion when he makes a bad judgment resulting in mortal danger, but the relationship is much more than that. The Lion King is engaged with the young cub, teaching him, scolding him, but also laughing, joking, and playing with him. The Lion King clearly is enriched by the interaction when he seizes the opportunity to drop his kingly demeanor, if only for a short time.

There is, in addition to this captivating story, a message of profound significance here:
the circle of life
. A clearly stated belief in the ongoing influence and stabilizing effect of intergenerational relationships; a philosophy that we are part of a dynamic, yet constantly repeated progression through life’s stages; that we are related—in fact, inextricably so—to the generations that have preceded us and that will follow us; and that we are defined by this relationship.

Most of us readily accept our responsibility for caring for our children and grandchildren. Today, with the disappearance of the village society (even the disappearance of the neighborhood of my own youth), there is a diminished responsibility for others’ children. Of course, most people treat other people’s children kindly but harbor a reluctance to offer more than a smile and greeting. If another person’s child comes in direct opposition to the perceived happiness or health of our own, a fierce protectionism arises. The seemingly rising rate of child predators and an increasing rate of helicopter parenting (parents hovering over children as they move through life—an approach the Great Prince as well as the Lion King would surely take exception to) make interaction with children other than those in our own family less fluid and, in fact, less likely to happen at all. We have, therefore, scores of older adults who have no access to children because they have no children in their family. Scores of older adults disconnected from the circle of life and enriching, health-promoting relationship with the young.

Once again, it should not be surprising that we humans might be drawn to children. For eons, we gathered together in small, generationally diverse groups in order to survive in harsh environments. The flourishing of children not only ensured the survival of us as a species, or as a village, but also provided workers, soldiers, craftsmen, mothers, cooks, scholars, and all sorts of other human resources. Children were not only recipients of parental and village nurturing and instruction but also had crucial roles in the operation of the family and the society. We look back now and cringe at child labor and other unscrupulous practices that resulted from this accepted view making its way into the Industrial Revolution. In any case, children were an integral part of the human effort to survive and of the operation of the tribe; therefore, a life devoid of children is an anomaly.

But are children necessary to age successfully? Dr. Bill Thomas, founder of the Eden Alternative, once again weighs in. He firmly believes that elders must live in habitats for human beings, not in sterile institutions. The Eden team is dedicated to eliminating the plagues of loneliness, helplessness, and boredom that make life intolerable, believing that close and continuous contact with plants, animals, and children provides relationships that offer a pathway to a life worth living. According to Dr. Thomas, Eden Alternative homes report benefits to this approach, including reduction in medication use, lower mortality rates, less staff turnover, and fewer employee accidents.

Health insurer Humana sees the value of association with children. In association with KaBOOM!, a nonprofit that aims to build a playground within walking distance of every child’s home, Humana has sponsored multigenerational playgrounds with equipment suitable for all ages. These playgrounds combine the benefits of physical activity and mingling with children in order to maximize the benefits of exercise and to help motivate older adults to move. These spaces will soon be in ten major cities.
¹

And what about the children? Do they benefit from the association with older adults? Big Brothers Big Sisters of America reports that children in their programs, after only eighteen months, were …

• 46 percent less likely to begin using illegal drugs
  
• 27 percent less likely to begin using alcohol
  
• 52 percent less likely to skip school
  
• 37 percent less likely to skip a class
  
• 33 percent less likely to hit someone
  ²
  

Clearly this young people–older people association can be characterized as “win-win.”

Brazil has launched an initiative to promote an active and healthier aging process nationwide. One strategy involves the development and promotion of multigenerational programs. One study involved students twelve to eighteen years old meeting with thirty-two elders for two-hour sessions once weekly for fourteen weeks. The joint activities involved memory sessions (storytelling and question-and-answer sessions), celebrations (birthdays), and the production of books and posters. The participating older adults showed positive quantitative changes in family relationships and the perception of social support. Positive effects were seen in the youth also.
³

The value of intergenerational exchange is becoming mainstream in the healthcare community. The Intergenerational Center of Temple University’s College of Health Professions and Social Work in Philadelphia recently won the Eisner Foundation’s first Eisner Prize for Intergenerational Excellence for its Project SHINE (Students Helping in the Naturalization of Elders). The goal of Project SHINE, according to the Intergenerational Center’s founder and executive director, Nancy Henkin, is to “bring together young and old so everyone can feel like they’re contributing to society from birth until death.” Project SHINE brings together local immigrants who are struggling with integrating into the community and students through
educational programs, volunteerism, and mentoring. This program has been a great success and has expanded to thirty-one colleges and two hundred ethnic community organizations. As Henkin says, “We’re all in this together and our destinies are linked.
⁴

As I was about to become a grandfather over a decade ago, I had an idea that this would be a wonderful experience. Seeing my daughter as mother, a new child born into the world, a child I could enjoy but not have to raise myself—all great, right? Wrong! Not because it wasn’t all those things, but because it was so much
more
than those things. It was, in fact, a mystical experience.

First, I had a profound sense of being part of an ancient, reoccurring, and soulful human drama. Actually, even beyond human in the sense that it is life being lived, life realizing its highest potential. The birth of Jackson sent me off on a metaphysical merry-go-round, which resulted in a gut understanding of the circle of life and my place in it. No abstract concept of birth, life, and death here, but the raw, naked understanding that comes to an existential player who is willing to take on many roles. Shakespeare’s words from
As You Like It
seem apt:

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.

Even Shakespeare’s words come up short. Suffice it to say, becoming a grandfather was a spiritual experience. Even more surprises came later. As Jackson began to notice, then recognize, then communicate, then play, and then befriend me—this was a validation that made the rewards of career and accomplishment pale in comparison, a validation of my very existence, of my role in this magnificent journey of life.

We can experience the Family of Man, or even the participation in a Life Force, with our relationship with other adults. With children, however, whether they arise from your own DNA or whether they merely share the core genome of all humans, our sense of place and role is sharpened, unveiled, as with a masterpiece on canvas hidden under a more mundane painting. Children are indeed the bearers and promoters of our more noble human qualities.

On a more practical level, children reduce our stress. Of course, many parents wouldn’t agree, but that is precisely the point. When we can look beyond the complex parent-child relationship, with its focus on safety, discipline, and providing for needs, we can allow the relationship to be what it is, if only for short periods of time: two humans, in different places on a circle, yet connected, and both necessary to maintain the circle of life. We can then allow for a mix of unbridled optimism and experiential skepticism, of boundless energy and growing fatigue, of curiosity and experience, of innocence and wisdom. The result of this recipe is not always predictable, but it is healthy and satisfying and stress reducing, because when we are with children and not burdened of the duties and responsibilities of parenting, we are
with them
. We are less likely to be anywhere else. Not worrying about the world, or our aches and pains, or our finances, or our life expectancy. We are more likely to be in the moment with them and free of our self-induced stressors.

There is a widespread tendency to believe that modern children don’t want to be with older adults. This is the logical conclusion of a smoldering ageism in our society. As noted above, the relationship between the old and the young is primal. It is the result of eons of tribal and village connection, which is encoded into our very DNA. Yes, it may require that we dust off, or even scrub off, some of the trappings of our modern era, but underneath, like the hidden masterpiece, is the prize.

Martin is nearly ninety, a widower, and a retired aircraft company executive. He lives in a retirement community in Florida. He’s gregarious, and optimistic. He plays tennis regularly and attends the local university’s lifelong-learning classes. As a single man in a community where women outnumber men by as much as three to one, and where a major criterion for appeal is being able to drive at night, he’s a rock star. But despite all this he was feeling empty. His grandchildren were grown, and he felt all he was doing was merely recreational, without purpose or meaning.