Ninety-five years. Can you imagine what the eyes of anyone who has lived that long have seen?
They saw, perhaps, the tail end of the Roaring Twenties — though certainly not in any kind of a meaningful way.
They definitely saw the Great Depression, and the heartache that time in American history brought to so many people.
They heard the broadcasts when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor; listened to the radio and read the newspapers that chronicled the four years of World War II; celebrated both VE and VJ day along with the rest of the country; and lived through the dawn of the Cold War, McCarthyism and Korea.
The women waited for their boyfriends/husbands to come home from the war while the men fought and saw some of their brothers-in-arms receive Dear John letters.
Once the war ended and they were reunited with their loved ones, they got married, built lives for themselves, and raised children. Lots of children. They produced the so-called “Baby Boom” that flooded the nation with a generation of children that — as we read this — are experiencing the slings and arrows of being senior citizens themselves.
During the tumultuous 1960s, when we lost a president, two civil rights leaders and a young, vibrant political candidate to assassins’ bullets, those who are lucky enough to be 95 now were just in their forties, and they were the ones left to explain to their small, inquisitive children the meaning of it all.
A decade later, those small and inquisitive children were in high school and college. Some of them were starting to get jaded by what was happening to our country’s political system as our president was forced to resign from office due to the scandals swallowing up his administration.
Some of them clashed with their children. Others managed to keep the peace. But most from that generation nodded their heads in weary acceptance that in their lives they’d seen much worse and lived to tell about it.
The years piled up. There was Jimmy Carter, the Iran hostage crisis, Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, the Gulf War, Bill Clinton’s Oval Office antics, 9/11, Dubya, the Iraq War, Barack Obama, and right on up to today with Donald Trump and the controversy that swirls around him.
I write about this today because two days ago, my mother-in-law, Mary Inserra, celebrated her 95th birthday. And she is, to me, so representative of the Greatest Generation. Like my mother, who left us four years ago at the age of 91, there are things about the world that annoy, and even infuriate her. But she refuses to dwell on them.
Instead, she lives in the now — and has always lived that way. She was a wonderful wife to her late husband, Vito; she’s been a terrific mother to both my wife Linda and my sister-in-law Susan, and she’s been more than generous and attentive to me — the interloper of the family. Once, while Linda and I were still dating, I had to work until midnight Christmas Eve, all alone in an office on Beacon Hill in Boston. My instructions were to go over to Linda’s house afterward because they’d all be getting out of midnight Mass, and we could have a little while together.
But there waiting for me, when I got there, was the traditional Italian dinner of calamari, seven fishes, and every kind of pastry you could imagine. Nothing to me said acceptance better than that!
If there was anyone in this universe who has been spoiled beyond rotten, it’s my son, Andrew. He had two grandmothers who doted on him beyond belief. I could never understand how he ever fit his head through the door, but he’s managed — somehow. Mary may be 95, and have all the types of issues that befall people her age, but she still treats our son like he’s the King of England.
She’s been a true friend to all who have had that honor. Last week, her godson Rodney and his family, which included his senior-citizen mother (who lost her husband just last month), paid us a visit for a celebration and you could see the love among all of them. It was a great day.
Anyway, I am loathe to turn these things into anything too mawkish. But here’s the thing. We’re so celebrity-driven in this country that we even elected a reality TV star as president. Sadly, status seems to play an outsized role in our estimation of people.
Mary, however, is an ordinary person who, in her unique way, has lived an extraordinary life in the way she made her house a home and made anyone who went there feel welcome and comfortable.
Ninety-five. Just imagine what all those eyes have seen.
Happy Birthday, Mary.
