Pardon me, have we met? Let me introduce myself.
I am a single, cisgender female, American of African descent, end-of-the-line baby boomer of a certain age, with no children or a partner.
A long label, but socially sensitive and often questioned because the Homo Sapiens Cultural Club believes my life couldn’t be complete, successful, or fruitful.
Why? Because I do not “have a man” and did not have any offspring. They will not give me full membership. I didn’t have children. I didn’t find a mate. You would think that I had a uni-breast and my ovaries were radioactive. It is as if I weren’t quite human, but a mix between Thelma, of “Scooby-Doo” fame, an eccentric hippie (double cray-cray?), and a Marvel Comics mutant (and not Storm, with her full head of flowing white hair).
And heaven help you if you admit to having a dog or cat, or two. JD Vance, an individual seeking the vice presidency, ignored the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders handbook (DSM) and diagnosed my kind as “sociopaths.” According to Vance, I am “not as good as,” destined to become “pathological,” because I didn’t make any babies. Reminds me of a land of cotton, where old times should be forgotten.
His diagnosis is not from the DSM, fifth edition, but from the DUM, second edition.
Well, I want to be the first to inform you, I am an example of having choices and not being afraid to choose the road rarely taken. I am “twelderly” (like tween is to teen — not quite elderly). I am not a lonely old spinster knitting socks and spinning stories about boyfriends of yore. (Though I have had some hunks.) I am viable; I have friends, fellow human beings, some still married, mothers and fathers, some are even grandparents now.
And I matter — I am living my life, getting around, taking care of myself, and sharing my talents with others. I am busy, just not with a husband and family. I am busy with children, young and older adults, and elders, able to stand as a support, a guide, and a friend.
I am not afraid of the word “Auntie.” My culture taught me that I am a part of a larger community that raises all people with the love and abilities given to you no matter who you are. My spirituality embraces a man who many consider divine, who never had a child, let alone a mate. I hoped to have found my partner, my soulmate, but I didn’t, so I adjusted accordingly.
So there.
I am not putting on a mask or putting lipstick on a pig. I am tired of the demonizing of women who are living their lives. Fully living solo. My pursuit of happiness is as important as any person’s walking this planet. I have a stake in the present as well as the future. And I, too, have a legacy. I am not delusional, I am deliberate. This is my journey, from my vantage point, which hasn’t been easy but has been quite interesting.
By the way, growing old is not for the faint of heart. I can vouch for that. I have done my share of complaining about the stiffness, an ache here and there and back there, but when the alternative stared me in the face a few years ago, I got to know those snaps, crackles, and pops, along with the hiccups.
Another point: When you get a reprieve, to continue with your life, just say, “Thank you.”
One more thing: If you heard only “old” when I said “growing old,” you may find that aging sucks. Sorry. But if you heard the word “growing” and it didn’t scare you, let’s talk. You see, people complain about getting old, but I am content growing old. And still growing.
No, I am not crazy, quite the contrary, and I promise not to preach about anything else. I’ll just try to share with you what happened as my eyes have aged, and you make up your mind. You can figure out where the jigsaw pieces fit in your puzzle. All I ask is that you go to the edge of your knowledge and take one more step.
Now we can get on with it.
Lora René Tucker is the poetry editor of African Voices magazine and the author of “Writes of Passage.” A leader of anti-racism and cultural empowerment workshops and a facilitator of poetry therapy for Stony Brook Southampton Hospital, she lives in Sag Harbor.