Old People are Cool: Intergenerational Friendships as a Cure for Loneliness

Oh, the elderly! How adorable they are in their cardigans and slippers. How sweet they look, knitting their fifth jumper of the week. How they slowly but surely destroyed our environment and our economy. How they tell us if we just stayed that little bit longer after work … Well then, our boss would have to give us the promotion, and we could finally get on the housing ladder. How their condescending smiles seem to say, ‘With a little extra effort, anything is possible!’ We love to hate on grumbling OAPs. 

As an under-25 myself, it is mildly comforting to know that, even if it will take me seventy years to own my own property, it isn’t completely my fault. But recently I’ve been seeing a lot of videos online complaining about the old; increasingly, there is a suggestion that it is an entire generation’s fault for the current state of the world, and that they refuse to take accountability, choosing instead to rub salt in the wound by telling  us to work harder. Such people exist, of course, although I do believe we are in the midst of a largely one-sided generational conflict.

I have never met someone over the age of 60 who doesn’t pity the young and fear for our future. Now, maybe I’ve just been lucky, but I am more inclined to believe that young people scapegoat elderly people to cope with our own lack of prospects. Blaming the government isn't emotionally rewarding — institutions can’t feel. We instead prefer cherry-picking instances of old people being out of touch and downright offensive, simply because they are easier to get angry about and much more entertaining. This generational chasm, I believe, is due to a lack of intermingling across age groups.

I’m not saying become a granny muncher, but consider for a moment your friend group. What’s the biggest age gap between you all? Five years? Maybe ten? Because for me, it’s 45 years.

One of my best friends is a 65-year-old Belgian woman called Sylvie. We met while I was living in Mons, south of Brussels, where I was assisting in her weekly English classes. As the token native speaker, I spent most of my time teaching the class swear words and rude euphemisms. My vulgar English charm must have worked on her, as she invited me to stay at hers for a week. I now go back to visit her every summer, proudly own a copy of her house key, and consider her my third grandmother.

Sylvie is quite the dynamo. I often describe her as indescribable, but with this being an article, I must try to put into words what makes her so unique. She walks for hours each morning, often tells me of her plans for euthanasia, and actively encourages me to have sex in her house. She always has a smile on her face, does not stop talking, and wouldn’t hurt a fly (at least in the metaphorical sense; the one animal she despises is the fly). She welcomed me into her home as a stranger and is incredibly patient when my French evades me. She often has ‘une petite surprise’ for me, whether that be news of her new boyfriend or a present left on my breakfast plate. She is unfalteringly kind, ridiculously funny, and absolutely full of joie de vivre.

Older people, like Sylvie, may never understand what it is to be young today. But just as the complexities of the current job market can only be comprehensible to those in the depths of it, the complexities of life can only be understood by those who have truly experienced the world. The older generation is a wealth of knowledge on love, friendship, and happiness. Sylvie gives me hope, and her wise advice leaves no room for loneliness or uncertainty. She gives me a perspective that friends my age simply can’t see. The world is bigger than grades, jobs, or boyfriends, and we are here to experience everything life has to offer. 

I hope everyone can find a friend like Sylvie. Luckily for you, there are four care homes in St Andrews.