Among Shakespeare's many insights was the notion that 'crabbed age and youth cannot live together'. Among his reasons was the observation that 'youth is like summer morn, age like winter weather'. How true.
Yet crabbed age and youth can interact very well in certain circumstances, and I think that one criterion for evaluating a culture is the way in which youth treats age in the market place.
In a recent trip on Kalamata's suburban bus, I was joined by four teenage boys who were on their way to an exam. They were rowdy in the extreme, and also inclined to jostle and punch each other. My grandfather, a teacher for 50 years, would have labelled them hobbledehoys or larrikins, but they were simply examples of summer morn, brimming over with health and animal spirits, and probably trying to allay their nerves. Having raised three boys myself, I was simply entertained.
Then an old man boarded the bus, seating himself next to me and behind the boys. He was definitely in the winter of his life: I doubt he'll see 80 again, and I wondered if anyone was looking after him, for he was unshaven, and his jeans, here not the usual garb for an older man, had seen better days.
It was easy to tell he was a traditional Greek, as every time the bus passed a church, he doffed his baseball cap and crossed himself several times. He sat quietly for a few minutes, observing the scene, and then he tapped the nearest boy on the shoulder.
'I'm impressed by your enthusiasm,' he announced, 'and it so happens I've written a poem about that subject. Here it is, my poem called "Enthusiasm",' and he poked around in a tattered plastic bag, eventually giving the boy a printed sheet. The transformation was impressive: a curtain of silence dropped on the noisy four, while they looked at each other, trying to evaluate the situation. They read the poem in turn. Then the first boy said something.
'I can't hear you,' complained the poet. So the boy left his seat to speak directly into the old man's ear. At this point any wayward thoughts I might have had about heedless, uncaring youth were flying rapidly out of the window. What with the noise level in the bus, I couldn't make out what praise had been delivered, but the poet was definitely encouraged. The boy returned to his seat,