The people I almost missed

The streetlight turns to red, but the people cross the street anyways; that is, everyone except me and a little silver haired lady.  She looks like she is in her eighties or so.  She is stout and determined, and her bolsa (purse) is firmly tucked under her arm.  She carries a cane, not because she cannot walk without it, but because she knows that she looks vulnerable to others.  Her cane is a possible weapon.  Studying martial arts has put a respect in me for the elderly, and the battle they fight each day.  To a common thief, an elderly person with a big purse is a perfect target.  As I stood at the stoplight beside this inspiring woman, I felt a need to protect her and so many others like her. 

As the rest of Madrid walkers rapidly pass by, I realize that I too, am walking very fast.  I slow down, and then I see them.  Little silver-haired people are dotting the sidewalk, walking slowly with canes.  The normal masses are literally speed-walking around them.  I feel as though I am seeing slow motion.  The old gentlemen keep their Euros stowed away deep in their front pockets.  I am touched when I see a couple walking slowly arm in arm, beaming at the day.  The husband is carrying his wife’s purse and she is smiling fondly at him. 

The people of Madrid have three paces while walking, young, middle aged, and old.  The young whizz by on motor bikes wearing expensive clothes.  The young have their minds on the latest gadget, the latest girl, and making it to class on time. 

The middle-aged with children by the hand, are riding the bus to school.  They answer their cell phones and chat with their friends and spouses.  The men wear business suits, the ladies, lovely dresses and heels.  They head to careers and family events.  They converse with their children, they may smile at me observing, but usually don’t glance up from their own lives.

The elderly are entirely different.  The gentlemen meet their friends at parks, enjoy good pipes and conversation.  The ladies meet each other at home and cook, chat about days past, and sit out on a balcony or in a street café enjoying the view.  These meetings may take three to four hours.  There is no hurry to get anywhere, and no pressing matters to attend to.  As I walk by they not only smile at me, but they wave.  The elderly each have a story to tell, and if one takes the time to listen, lessons can be learned.  The elderly board buses very slowly; and after they are seated they look around the bus and smile at each person with whom they make eye contact.  They begin conversations with perfect strangers.  They are quick and ready to help out in any way they can.  Yesterday an elderly gentleman told Rajesh that he should button his back pockets to protect his money. 

I feel that we as a generation are missing something important.  We have forgotten that the elderly have been here long before us.  They are the patriots of our history.  We visit expensive castles and sights of old, but we don’t ask advice of the elderly though they are connected.  It is as if we would rather read lifeless historical plaques than hear stories first hand.  There is something else that we are missing.  One day, we too will be old.  And we will witness the disrespect that the young give to the elderly.  I choose to learn my lesson right now, before I am old, so I can benefit from the wealth of lessons that have already been learned.