ONTARIO SCIENCE CENTRE 2: AGEISM

Old individuals.

Image by Vectorportal.com, CC BY

You might not want to read the following story. It’s being told by an individual over the age of 50, so you know, it’s probably irrelevant. If you are also “older” (psychologists prefer this to the word “old,” which has negative connotations), you may be able to relate to this story. If, on the other hand, you’re a younger individual, you might learn something that will help you to prepare for the inevitable.

“Just remember that the mighty oak was once a nut like you.”— Bullwinkle J. Moose

IT’S AN OLD STORY

I’m almost 55 years old, which to me, doesn’t really count as “old.” I certainly don’t feel old and, until recently, I was active in the community, so I don’t act old either. But lots of people say I’m starting to look old.

People are also saying that I’m behind the times, that I’m out of touch. Well, I’ve tried to stay current, but it’s hard to keep up with technology, so maybe I’ve fallen a little bit behind. It’s not like I’m incapable of getting up to speed. It’s just that it would take time and effort, and meanwhile, there are youngsters who can do what I do with a lot more flash.

That’s another thing. I used to be thought of as exciting and entertaining—a source of astonishment, information and inspiration. People of all ages would seek me out, even though I was a little out-of-the-way. But everyone knew where I lived—the same place I’ve always lived—and I was easy to get to. I’ve hosted parties. I’ve entertained important people. I’ve always been happy to greet curious friends and strangers.

If there’s one thing that has been a problem for me, it’s my physical condition. That’s an issue that a lot of us face once we reach our 50s, or 60s or, God forbid, our 70s. My skin is starting to sag, my bones are getting a bit fragile, and my “mechanical systems” are starting to give me trouble. It’s too bad that those individuals who were looking after me didn’t insist on taking better care of me. A little maintenance goes a long way. But, you know, even now, with a small investment, a bit of “restorative” care and attention would extend my productive life for decades, or longer.

Unfortunately, there is a group of people out there who believe that I’m “beyond repair.” The body’s still warm and they’re already planning my replacement.

Recently, the neglect has reached epic proportions. It’s like I’m an embarrassment. People have actually been prevented from visiting me. There’s a rumor going around that I am on the verge of collapse, even though specialists have assured them that any disrepair issues can be easily mended. And it’s not like anyone’s worried about me. They’re afraid that I might fall on somebody and hurt them.

Let’s be honest. This is ageism, pure and simple: “discrimination on the grounds of age, employing negative and inaccurate stereotypes.” Out with the old, in with the new—people, things and buildings like me.

Not that long ago, buildings were considered to be everlasting. The older we got, the more precious we became. If one of us appeared to outlive our usefulness, it was an easy task to repair, repurpose or renew us, so that we could go on to serve and inspire generation after generation.

Some buildings had special significance because of the architects who designed them, or because of their social and cultural importance—like Toronto’s Old City Halls (Old and New), the Parliament Buildings, the AGO and the ROM—all examples of buildings that have been maintained, renovated and revived—still relevant, and still garnering respect, due to, or despite their age.

Then, there are buildings that are unique and irreplaceable because of the way they inhabit their site, as though they had grown there, when in reality, they were designed and built that way, as an integral part of the landscape. I’m thinking now of examples like Ontario Place, The Canadian War Museum, and Science North in Sudbury.

Forgive me, but I’m also thinking of myself. Sure, I’ve suffered some wear and tear, and I need a little work, but I’m still a popular, highly regarded cultural institution, and I belong right where I am. I am certainly not a commodity to be reduced and relocated on a whim. Like I said, I’m not quite 55 years old, and even by meagre current standards (statistically, building life expectancy is 60 years in Ontario), I have yet to reach my life expectancy, and with a little care, to far exceed it.

Please don’t give up on me. I may be an “older” building, but I still have a lot to offer.

Your humble servant,