The Community

I spent last weekend at my aunt's house, celebrating my cousin Kathleen's birthday. In addition to visiting my family, I got a glimpse of my future, and it kind of scared me.

My aunt lives in a senior citizen community. The residents have all the free time in the world, and spend it golfing, drinking wine, hanging out with their friends, and gossiping about the other residents. It reminded me of a college dorm for old people.

I learned a lot about senior citizens. For one, they are avid rule-followers. They live for rules, and for enforcing them. When we went the pool so Mark could swim, the community president stopped to check the visitor log; he wanted to make sure we'd signed in properly. (Mark was the only person using the pool.)

"He shouldn't even be president," my aunt's friend, Jean, sneered. "His name isn't even on the title for his trailer. He's from Canada." She didn't exactly come out and say he was an illegal immigrant, but I could tell she was thinking it. (My aunt told me later Jean's just mad she can't attend the community meetings because her name's not on her trailer title, either.)

My aunt brought along a bottle of wine, and plastic cups to drink it from. "They don't like glass around the pool," she said. Just to be safe, we sat a good 40 feet away from the pool. But another resident stopped by anyway, pointed at the bottle, and scolded us.

"No glass by the pool!" he said, shaking his finger at us. Then he told us to have a good day and walked off.

"His wife made him say that!" Jean spat out. "Look at her inside, waiting for him!" The wife waved through the door.

Another resident and his wife came to swim in the pool. The man struck up a conversation with Mark, and Jean watched him like a hawk.

"He's not a pedophile," she told me, and I was about to laugh until I saw she was serious.

"Are there a lot of pedophiles around here?" I asked nervously.

"Some," Jean answered.

"Jean knows where they all live," my aunt said. "She looks them all up on the Megan's Law website."

Jean nodded at the guy. "He's new here," she said. "I've gotta do a little more research on him."

After swimming, we headed to the next event--happy hour at the local steakhouse. Jean further entertained us by telling us about a would-be suitor. She told us how she could've gotten together with him.

"If I'd wanted to," she said. "If I remembered what to do."

"Go for it!" I told her, but she shook her head.

"Nah, that ship has sailed," she answered. "He's moved on to Vivian." Just like college!

After drinks came dinner. My aunt paced nervously as we waited for her friend Wanda to show up. "Wanda can't see well at night," she explained, and then went outside to move her car so Wanda could park in the driveway.

Wanda recounted the memorial service she'd attended that day. She was upset that only seven residents had attended the service, but almost 100 of them attended the lunch. Jean told her, "None of those people drive anymore." They don't go anywhere unless you can get to it by golf cart.

Kathleen and I laughed about it all later. "You know this is us in 20 years," I told her. "You and me, in a trailer, with Mark visiting." The only glitch would be my golfing, my aunt said.

"Heather talks too much," she told Jean, and I agreed with that point, but not the next one. "And she hits the ball too many times."

"I'm not a quitter!" I protested. "I follow through until it goes in the hole."

"Fourteen times is too many swings for one hole," my aunt reminded me. Boy, she'll never let me forget that round!

My aunt also said we didn't have to wait 20 years to move into the community. "You can move in at 55," she told us.

"Forty-six if you're a caregiver," Jean corrected. "And caregivers get paid really well!" So we revised our plan and decided Kathleen would move in with my aunt next year, get free room and board, and a good salary.

My aunt was not exactly on board with that plan.

"I'm not gonna pay her!" she exclaimed.

"Well, then your care won't be as good," I reasoned. "And remember, she cooks. That's worth something."

By the time we washed the dishes and the guests had left, it was late--by senior standards, anyway.

"It's 8:30!" my aunt exclaimed. Kathleen's boyfriend headed off to bed, and Kathleen joined him soon after. I stayed up, listening to the 1960 class reunion raging at the steakhouse down the street. The music ended promptly at 10 p.m., and I was asleep by 10:15--earliest I've been to bed in years.

I joked about it, but actually, it isn't a bad life. I can't wait to stop working and just hang out with my friends. There are downsides--as Jean pointed out, the resident turnover rate is pretty high, but hey, the new blood keeps the community young.

I'll have to get a dog and a golf cart to walk him with, and I'll have to learn to shut up if I want to play golf. But the good news is, based on Jean and the other residents, I won't have to hold my tongue anywhere else or keep my opinions to myself.

Because as they showed me, the upside to being older is that everyone is entitled to my opinion, at all times. So at least I've got that going for me...