Finally, some time alone with myself
One people miss as they age is a sense of personal privacy, even
if they never had much in the first place.
It is not an issue while still a young member of a large family
because it seems natural to live in each other’s pocket. But it
takes on value upon entering one’s teens (sooner for girls who
always seem naturally secretive). Then a parent’s inquisitiveness
into why you were suddenly locking your room provokes resentment as
well as fabrication:
”
I want to study my philosophy lesson in private.
”
That was my story and I’m sticking to it now.
Finally, some time alone with myself
One people miss as they age is a sense of personal privacy, even if they never had much in the first place.
It is not an issue while still a young member of a large family because it seems natural to live in each other’s pocket. But it takes on value upon entering one’s teens (sooner for girls who always seem naturally secretive). Then a parent’s inquisitiveness into why you were suddenly locking your room provokes resentment as well as fabrication: “I want to study my philosophy lesson in private.” That was my story and I’m sticking to it now.
After leaving to be on my own, except for visits home with the laundry, I rented an apartment with another refugee from oppression. He was even more inquisitive about my comings and goings than my parents had been, as were his successors over the years.
The Army represented a two-year obstacle to my quest. We ate together, drilled together, marched together and even brushed our teeth together. Any suggestion that one’s attempts to find a brief time alone was to study philosophy was met with derision, and wild speculation about what one really wanted to do alone.
As a civilian again, and with a series of roommates back at college, my hunt was put on hold. After marriage and children, whose reasons for locking themselves in their rooms did not deceive me for a moment, the quest seemed to be a will-of-the wisp.
Well, here I am, 73 years old and living alone. I find that unadulterated privacy has disappeared forever for most Americans.
Door-to-door salesmen rarely call and even Halloween brings only a handful of trick-or-treaters. I enjoy reading, writing, crossword puzzles, solitaire and a couple of television programs.
The only snake in my Eden is the telephone. I feel a security in having it but still mentally cross my fingers when it rings. Odds are that it will not be from anyone I know.
A salesperson is often on the other end. Because anyone deserves civility, I listen to the pitch and usually decline. Most thank me and hang up, but some want to argue about the merits of their product. I say then, “Thank you for calling. Goodbye.”
If several seconds of silence follow my greeting, it usually means it is a recorded message and I hang up as soon as the sales pitch confirms it. There is no need to be civil to a recording.
Sometimes, though, a call comes from a friend or, best of all, from my children. My daughter and twin sons live far from me and I do not see them often, so their calls are always welcome. By an ironic twist of circumstances they ask of my comings and goings rather than me asking them. Life has come full circle.
Although I sometimes wonder why solitude is not what I had thought it would be, I’ve grown philosophical about it.
