December 1, 2002 Primetimers
By Michel Paré, Toronto ON
Sometimes many of us spend so much time being gay and dealing with the issues of being gay that we overlook the fact that just being human has plenty of issues—aging being top of the list. Medicine combats its effects, science searches to slow or reverse it, corporations make billions trying to conceal it, but try, as we will, we can't stop the aging process. Time marches on—sometimes right across your face, leaving little tracks known to the kind of heart as laugh lines and to those of us wearing them as wrinkles.
Truth be told, being 60 and being gay—hell, being past 35 and being gay—isn’t a picnic, and its all men’s fault. Just as Canadians in general don’t value aging, gay men in particular seem to have almost a phobia about older gay men. They are all but invisible in most circles and tend to school together like fish, segregating in bowling alleys and gay centre's across the land. They are the placeholders at the end of a local bar or the owners of one or the couple next door seen at the local store.
As I look at 52, I say a silent prayer to the universe: Please, universe, please don’t let me become one of them. You know who they are. They are those older gay men who refuse to let go—you know, that lycra-wearing, YMCA body builder, grey-haired or balding guy. He still goes to circuit parties or hangs out with the much younger crowd, like the low end of the 18–28 year party types. He listens to gangsta rap because its cool. He tries very hard to stay good-looking and accepted by all, young and old, even praised or appreciated. And while he may succeed, his effort is obvious.
Yet he is completely understandable. Why? Because much like women, other men judge gay men, and its a man’s world, they're pigs, and we gay men want to be pig fodder.
When I tell everyone my age, they don’t believe it. While that's flattering, I wonder why they seem surprised. Could it be that we all have a preconceived notion of what 40, 50 or 60 is going to be like, what were going to be like, and how were going to act? You bet we do, and to most of us, its not a thought we like contemplating.
Aging inherently brings out negative feelings—feelings of anxiety, fear, and discontent. For those who have lived through 30, remember the feeling of urgency around such things as “needing” to own something—a house, a condo— if you didn't already, for getting that promotion, for starting that book, for settling down with a lover, for getting on with life.
But its odd—I don’t need to be made to feel good about getting older, you see, because I already do. While its harder now to take off the weight, hangovers last for two days instead of four hours, things are hanging a little lower than before thanks to gravity, and shopping for fashionable reading glasses is a viable pastime, its not so bad.
Aging in the gay community is now more a badge of honour than a number. Its almost as if instead of a party, we should get a medal for surviving. Remember, we came up when AIDS wasn't in the picture, watched it develop and kill, and went through eras of no treatments, of uncertainty. If you're over 40 and gay, you're a survivor, a testament to either Western medicine or careful decision making.
Also, you've lived through disco, its resurgence, punk, and ’80s rock. That alone deserves something. It is sad that most 40+ gay men don’t make more of a presence in mainstream social circles. Maybe aging gays are coupled or are too busy with jobs and lives to be out and about. Maybe they fear the same age prejudices that women face. Or maybe they fall asleep right after Will & Grace.
So somewhere between the psycho babble and harsh realities lies the truth, the truth that aging isn't the curse many think, but the blessing many miss. I wouldn't want to be 20 right now if you paid me. While the skin may be much tighter, I like the wisdom and comfort that come with age. And while its harder to find a date, its easier to make friends at a gay social clubs. The self-esteem of gay men often takes a beating—after all, society barely accepts us and even in our own community we segregate—but aging shouldn't eat at it. We've survived AIDS, the Pearson, Trudeau, Mulroney and Chretien years.
We've learned enough about love to save us time on worthless pursuits and seen enough to help some younger people avoid our same mistakes. Life doesn’t begin at 40 for a gay man, but it certainly doesn't end. Maybe there should be a 40–60 night at some establishment.
On the other hand, something tells me that clubs that just cater to 18–28 year olds will turn in to club 18–60 because, lets face it, there are always more than a few silver foxes around a hen house.
By Michel Paré, Toronto ON
Originally published on Toronto Digital Queeries
Sometimes many of us spend so much time being gay and dealing with the issues of being gay that we overlook the fact that just being human has plenty of issues—aging being top of the list. Medicine combats its effects, science searches to slow or reverse it, corporations make billions trying to conceal it, but try, as we will, we can't stop the aging process. Time marches on—sometimes right across your face, leaving little tracks known to the kind of heart as laugh lines and to those of us wearing them as wrinkles.
Truth be told, being 60 and being gay—hell, being past 35 and being gay—isn’t a picnic, and its all men’s fault. Just as Canadians in general don’t value aging, gay men in particular seem to have almost a phobia about older gay men. They are all but invisible in most circles and tend to school together like fish, segregating in bowling alleys and gay centre's across the land. They are the placeholders at the end of a local bar or the owners of one or the couple next door seen at the local store.
As I look at 52, I say a silent prayer to the universe: Please, universe, please don’t let me become one of them. You know who they are. They are those older gay men who refuse to let go—you know, that lycra-wearing, YMCA body builder, grey-haired or balding guy. He still goes to circuit parties or hangs out with the much younger crowd, like the low end of the 18–28 year party types. He listens to gangsta rap because its cool. He tries very hard to stay good-looking and accepted by all, young and old, even praised or appreciated. And while he may succeed, his effort is obvious.
Yet he is completely understandable. Why? Because much like women, other men judge gay men, and its a man’s world, they're pigs, and we gay men want to be pig fodder.
When I tell everyone my age, they don’t believe it. While that's flattering, I wonder why they seem surprised. Could it be that we all have a preconceived notion of what 40, 50 or 60 is going to be like, what were going to be like, and how were going to act? You bet we do, and to most of us, its not a thought we like contemplating.
Aging inherently brings out negative feelings—feelings of anxiety, fear, and discontent. For those who have lived through 30, remember the feeling of urgency around such things as “needing” to own something—a house, a condo— if you didn't already, for getting that promotion, for starting that book, for settling down with a lover, for getting on with life.
But its odd—I don’t need to be made to feel good about getting older, you see, because I already do. While its harder now to take off the weight, hangovers last for two days instead of four hours, things are hanging a little lower than before thanks to gravity, and shopping for fashionable reading glasses is a viable pastime, its not so bad.
Aging in the gay community is now more a badge of honour than a number. Its almost as if instead of a party, we should get a medal for surviving. Remember, we came up when AIDS wasn't in the picture, watched it develop and kill, and went through eras of no treatments, of uncertainty. If you're over 40 and gay, you're a survivor, a testament to either Western medicine or careful decision making.
Also, you've lived through disco, its resurgence, punk, and ’80s rock. That alone deserves something. It is sad that most 40+ gay men don’t make more of a presence in mainstream social circles. Maybe aging gays are coupled or are too busy with jobs and lives to be out and about. Maybe they fear the same age prejudices that women face. Or maybe they fall asleep right after Will & Grace.
So somewhere between the psycho babble and harsh realities lies the truth, the truth that aging isn't the curse many think, but the blessing many miss. I wouldn't want to be 20 right now if you paid me. While the skin may be much tighter, I like the wisdom and comfort that come with age. And while its harder to find a date, its easier to make friends at a gay social clubs. The self-esteem of gay men often takes a beating—after all, society barely accepts us and even in our own community we segregate—but aging shouldn't eat at it. We've survived AIDS, the Pearson, Trudeau, Mulroney and Chretien years.
We've learned enough about love to save us time on worthless pursuits and seen enough to help some younger people avoid our same mistakes. Life doesn’t begin at 40 for a gay man, but it certainly doesn't end. Maybe there should be a 40–60 night at some establishment.
On the other hand, something tells me that clubs that just cater to 18–28 year olds will turn in to club 18–60 because, lets face it, there are always more than a few silver foxes around a hen house.
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