I was brought up on fairly strict Chinese values, amongst which is: respect for the old. Along with respect, we should be extra protective of them, as they’re physically frail and therefore need help.
As I keep saying to my students here in the West (especially to my 76-year-old French student whose hackles would rise at any mention of her age — she’d be gritting her teeth now because I’ve identified her age!):
“Ageism is positive in the Chinese culture. You get the consideration and respect that you deserve with age: people are supposed to give up their seats, help you across the road, help carry your heavy basket.”
So, it was a shock when I first arrived in London in 1977 and an A-levels classmate, Lorna, spoke about old people in a derogatory tone of voice. She said she wouldn’t give them special consideration because they would shove their way to the front of the bus queue.
I went away wondering why old people would need to do that. To me, it is a “chicken or egg” situation: if people had shown them the consideration in the first place just purely on the basis of their age (with all the things that come with it: physical frailty, helplessness, just to name two), then old people wouldn’t need to fight to get on to the bus at all but practically escorted onto it, with their shopping basket being carried by someone behind them.
Fast forward 39 years. I’d moved into a new neighbourhood. Getting off at my bus stop from food shopping, I found a tiny, obviously old lady behind me, also wanting to disembark.
She had a shopping trolley: one of those two-wheeled upright ones that were (still are?) synonymous with old people — younger people used to say, “I wouldn’t want one of those! Only old people use them!”
I got off the bus, then turned round and proffered a hand to help her alight. When I took hold of her trolley to lift it off the bus, I found that it was quite heavy — certainly for someone of her age (89 — oops, mentioned age again!).
Walking her back to her block, trundling the heavy trolley behind me, I commented on the weight of it, saying she should perhaps make more shopping trips rather than do it all in one go, as it wasn’t good for her back — and safety. I even offered to do her shopping for her.
She said, “It’s really the two bricks I’ve put in there, so that it’s weighted down a bit for stability.” This is a good trick I hadn’t thought of — must remember it for my own old age (I was 53 at the time — it’s OK, the Chinese are not sensitive about divulging their age). She added, “I’ve only got a loaf of bread in there.”
Thereafter, I’d visit her regularly (about six blocks away) for a quick chat (she lived alone), and to help with chores (vacuuming the flat) and minor crises (spilt oil on kitchen floor).
I discovered her name was Eva.
One day, I was going food shopping and found Eva already at the bus stop, with her trolley — obviously also off to buy some food. (Therefore, trolley should be empty — except for the bricks.) There were a couple of younger people, too, in their twenties or thirties.
When the bus appeared, some 50 yards (45.7 meters) away, I took hold of the handle, saying to her, “I’ll lift it onto the bus for you.”
Eva said to me, very assertively, “No, leave it. Stand back. Watch me.”
As the bus got closer, now about 3 yards (2.7 meters) away, Eva started to knock her knees together. And most visibly too. The two young people immediately rushed forward to help lift her trolley (weighted down with two bricks) onto the bus.
The driver lowered the bus, which they tend to do, anyway, for older people and those with mobility challenges — they are very good like that here, bless them. (It’s called a “kneeling” position, achieved by releasing air pressure from the air-bag suspension at the wheels.)
As she climbed up onto the bus, Eva turned round and beamed me a triumphant “See?!” smile.
(London, 2016)
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