I’ve been teaching French online for almost two years now. One of my students from Mexico recently commented on something that struck her in Europe: “I’m impressed by how independent older people are here,” she said.
She lived in Paris and now lives in London. I can’t speak much about the UK, but I do know a bit about the French system—especially after spending the past year living with my mother and caring for her.
When I write that, I realize it may sound strange: A single man living with his mom. In France, that image carries a lot of connotations— Drama, failure, even mental disorder.
Drama as in: someone left, someone disappeared. Failure as in: the man couldn’t make it on his own, couldn’t build his own home. Mental disorder as in: the mother was taking care of him until now, and still does.
All of this because, in France, the standard has become: “Each generation must live separately.”
Children grow up and move out. They live elsewhere—often far from where they were raised. Parents live in their place, often separated, building new versions of “home.”
They stay there as long as they can. A partner dies, and they keep going. Until they can’t.
Then, they move into a retirement home—or more often, what we call an EHPAD (an assisted living facility).
France has the famous Sécurité Sociale, a health care system many countries envy. If you can’t afford care, the state steps in. If you can’t shop, clean, or wash for yourself—and someone helps you fill out the paperwork—then you’re taken care of.
That means elderly people stay home until something happens to stop them. Or someone says stop.
In the streets of France, you’ll see two types of older people moving around: Those who still can... and those who really shouldn’t.
Today on the bus, I noticed an older woman boarding with her shopping trolley. Well-dressed, wearing jewelry and makeup, freshly styled hair. She moved with confidence, even a touch of arrogance. A classic bourgeoise, as we’d say in France.
She chose her seat with precision. A few stops later, someone got off and the bus started moving again— Only to stop 20 meters later at a red light.
Suddenly, she stood up and headed toward the door—hesitated, muttered something, then walked straight up to the driver.
“You forgot to stop!” she barked. “No, I didn’t—someone got off.” “You did! I called for the stop and you didn’t stop!” “Alright, lady. Do you want to get off?” “Of course I do!”
He opened the front door just as the light turned green. But instead of heading to the sidewalk, she turned in front of the bus—right across the street.
The driver froze in shock—luckily, he hadn’t taken off as quickly as many do. Another car, just out of sight, braked hard. The drama was narrowly avoided.
The woman continued her path across the busy road, heading toward the shop, completely unfazed.
My heart was still pounding as the bus pulled away. And I thought:
That one has reached the point. That one should stop being so independent.
How is it in your country? How do older generations live? I’d really like to know.
