← Gone Away
Those Whom The Gods Love
A couple of weeks ago, my good friend Paul, sometimes known as Prying1, sent me the photograph below with the cryptic message, "Now how old do you feel?"
It made no sense until I noticed the names under the image: Eddie Haskell, the Beaver and Wally. Why were those names so familiar? And then it hit me - the old TV show, Leave it to Beaver. I was seeing the three young stars as they are now.
In answer to Paul's question, no, it does not make me feel particularly old, perhaps because I have always felt a good deal older than my years. But the photo had a fascination of another sort for me. It illustrates so clearly how the memory preserves the faces of our friends as they were when we last saw them. It takes no account of the passing years and the effect they have on our own appearance; the friends of our youth remain forever young.
Unless, of course, we meet them again. And that can be a shocking experience, to realize that all this time the memory has been lying to us, that age is kind to no-one and can be cruel beyond imagination. To grow old with friends is to accept their changing appearance as one accepts the signs of age in oneself; to have those years compressed into a moment as we meet someone not seen for decades can be a rude awakening indeed.
And let us be fair - the shock may be just as great for the old friend for he too will have remembered you as you once were. In my case the old friend might have the additional surprise of thinking they had met my father, for I look more like the old man with each passing year. There was a time when I resembled him not at all but now I find he stares back at me from the mirror.
Reunions are all very well and it may be good to think back on old times with someone not seen for years; but, in some ways, it is better that many remain in that timeless land of the memory, forever young and never changing in their beliefs and ambitions. They will never taste death or illness, never be infirm or lose their wits; we carry them hale and hearty in our memories, that land where the sun always shines and adventure is the order of each day.
Those whom the gods love do not die young - they live in us until the moment of our own death and, perhaps, even beyond.
It made no sense until I noticed the names under the image: Eddie Haskell, the Beaver and Wally. Why were those names so familiar? And then it hit me - the old TV show, Leave it to Beaver. I was seeing the three young stars as they are now.
In answer to Paul's question, no, it does not make me feel particularly old, perhaps because I have always felt a good deal older than my years. But the photo had a fascination of another sort for me. It illustrates so clearly how the memory preserves the faces of our friends as they were when we last saw them. It takes no account of the passing years and the effect they have on our own appearance; the friends of our youth remain forever young.
Unless, of course, we meet them again. And that can be a shocking experience, to realize that all this time the memory has been lying to us, that age is kind to no-one and can be cruel beyond imagination. To grow old with friends is to accept their changing appearance as one accepts the signs of age in oneself; to have those years compressed into a moment as we meet someone not seen for decades can be a rude awakening indeed.
And let us be fair - the shock may be just as great for the old friend for he too will have remembered you as you once were. In my case the old friend might have the additional surprise of thinking they had met my father, for I look more like the old man with each passing year. There was a time when I resembled him not at all but now I find he stares back at me from the mirror.
Reunions are all very well and it may be good to think back on old times with someone not seen for years; but, in some ways, it is better that many remain in that timeless land of the memory, forever young and never changing in their beliefs and ambitions. They will never taste death or illness, never be infirm or lose their wits; we carry them hale and hearty in our memories, that land where the sun always shines and adventure is the order of each day.
Those whom the gods love do not die young - they live in us until the moment of our own death and, perhaps, even beyond.