I sat at the table with two of my three kids for a family meeting. I looked over my list; they sat with eyes glued to their phones.
“Hey guys,” I said.
They murmured.
“Phones down!”
“One sec,” said my sixteen-year old daughter - holding up her hand as if she were a crossing guard.
I took a breath and spilled words onto the table like Yahtzee dice. “I’ve decided to start dating.”
Chance.
My fifteen-year-old son looked up, “What’d you say?”
“I’m - going - to - start - to - date,” I said, enunciating each word as if we didn’t speak the same language.
Silence. Both kids stared at me. Finally, the more curious of the two asked, “Who would date you?”
~~~
Human sexuality is taught in the school system starting in grade four. Back in the summer between my son’s grade four and five years, I sauntered into the TV room in my pyjama’s. He sat on the couch watching TV and as I passed by, he said, “Mom, why do you have poop on your pyjamas?”
I reached back and stretched the edges of my boxer shorts while looking over my shoulder. “That’s not poop buddy.”
“Well then what is it?”
“It’s . . . ummm . . . blood.”
His head snapped away from the screen. “Why do you have blood coming out your butt!?”
My face grew hot. “I don’t have blood coming out of my bum. I’ve got my period.”
He recoiled. “You mean . . . You’re a GIRL?”
~~~
So, I don’t think he meant to be mean by thinking me undateable. His thoughts ran something like this — Moms aren’t women . . . Moms don’t date . . . GROSS. Neither of my teens showed interest in my desire to date, not that I expected them to. My daughter didn’t speak at the table at all. I found her later in her room, cocooned in blankets and pillows on the floor. I squeezed in next to her and she began to cry. Dating represented the end of hope. My parents had split up when I was a teen and I hoped for their reconciliation feel into my twenties.
Landing on the other side of fifty and contemplating dating felt like starting college deplete of youth, like showing up for a tryout with gear that had passed its best before date, and like pouring vinegar over baking soda. Finding suitable dates when I was in my twenties did not require a “profile”, a “describe your ideal day”, or a “what my partner should know about me” section - it required in-person conversation and connection. The grown-ups I meet now are parents, teachers, and coaches of my kids. There could be a single dad watching their child play, but short of walking around with a sign around my neck, or conducting an in-bleacher poll — “EXCUSE ME … I’m doing research for a story. Would all the single and available people please stand up”— there was no way to tell.
One day in the Co-Op parking lot, a tall eye-catching man in black dress pants and a cream-coloured shirt closed the trunk of his car and slowly wheeled his cart past me. He stopped perpendicular to me as I finished unloading my groceries. I looked up and my heart quickened and my mind reeled as I realized he was checking me out. I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head, like, “How you doin’?” He gestured towards my cart and said, “I’ll take that for you.”
I reluctantly perused the internet for dating tips. Reluctant because I wanted an across the room spark to ignite; I wanted a guy-sees-girl moment that would define my future; I wanted to use my in-person charm to attract a mate; I wanted an organic meet-cute not a contrived profile that would sell me to a viewing public I couldn’t see. With separation and divorce on the rise for those over 45, and over a third of singles using on-line dating sites, the internet was ripe with information. Dating in your 50’s: Easy for men…not so much for women. A dozen Do’s and Don’ts of dating in your 50’s. Top 5 dating sites. Dating after 50: waiting for sex and five other rules.
Here’s the thing about dating for the quinquagenarian - men in their fifties want women in their forties (or thirties). Moreover, telling the truth is not a prerequisite; fifty-three percent of people lie in their online profile. And, a unique lingo pervades on-line conversations, making communication tricky.
Early in my research, I stumbled onto a local Meetup group that organized events and activities for singles. The group was set to meet at a local climbing facility and then have appetizers and drinks. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to wiggle into spandex tights and walk into a room full of people I didn’t know - of all ages - and then step into a harness with three inch straps around my legs and waist and climb up into the air so that a room full of potential mates and competitors could stare up at my backside? Even spandex would not contain my voluptuosa (yes! I made that word up). My gravity-laden ass and back-thighs would ooze over the edges of the straps like bread dough through fingers.
Navigating the online minefield of mysterious misters is a part time job that requires a skill-set and cool detachment that I don’t possess. I believe in people. I am wired for connection. By this age, there are men (and women, I presume) who are skilled at showing you what you want to see—saying what you want to hear—and being an imagined ideal, to get what they want. It can be a heart-wrenching ordeal for an honest, loving, sensitive person. The whole process is bass-ackwards! When you date in your teens and twenties, you meet someone you are interested in and then decide if you want to date them — when you date in your fifties, you go on a date with a stranger enough times to see if you like them.
