Cliques and Camaraderie: Real Connections Beyond Stereotypes in Continuum Care

Think cliques are just for high school hallways and teen dramas? Think again. From line dancers to dessert rebels, social circles thrive in retirement communities too. In this post, Jean explores the quirky, compassionate, and occasionally eyebrow-raising world of resident cliques at a continuum care campus where kindness is the default and exclusion is (mostly) passé. Whether you're scouting senior living options or just curious about how macular degeneration became the basis for a Saturday night dinner club, buckle up. This isn’t your grandma’s bridge club—unless she’s in the Grumpy Old Men’s one. AI....

 
According to a Google search, the word Clicks “most commonly refers to cliques—small, exclusive social groups based on shared interests or characteristics. While sometimes benign, cliques can become harmful when they’re exclusionary, exhibit an ‘us vs. them’ mentality, and lead to bullying or social isolation. The drive to form such groups is a normal part of development, as students seek identity and belonging among peers.”

Beyond high school, cliques can be found in churches, in the workplace, and even on continuum care campuses like mine. And why not? They are often formed around shared interests or even shared complaints or along generational lines. The main difference between high school cliques and those later in life is that we—hopefully—leave behind the bullying and ‘us vs. them’ mindset as we grow more confident in our identity and more appreciative of others in our community.

Our CEO says we have a unique vibe here. We’re open and friendly to everyone who walks in the door—and wildly supportive of whatever life brings a fellow resident, whether it’s a hospitalization, a death in the family, or a move from independent living to assisted or memory care. There’s never a shortage of volunteers to water plants, walk dogs or feed cats when someone’s recovering or just out of town. We look out for one another.

Hint #1: If you’re touring CCCs where you might want to relocate, take notice of how the residents react to you. Do they look right through you? Do they smile, offer a greeting? It’s a good gauge to use when judging the culture at these kinds of places.

How did we get our friendly vibe? Part of it comes from most of us moving in around the same time, when the place was brand-new four years ago. (Although 20 of the original 72 have left earth or just this part of the campus.) Part of it comes from a few strong individuals who made it their mission to prevent cliques from forming. They were our unofficial welcome wagon until this year, when the resident council made them official—and they even wrote a booklet for new residents trying to find their way around and each new person is assigned a 'guide' to show them the ropes.

Hint #2: Ask if a place you are touring has a Welcome Wagon to teach you things like: where the trash room is located, how you use the community app to sign up for things, how to buss guests in, and to help you find people with like interests.

But of course, you can’t stop human nature—some cliques naturally formed. The first one that formed here evolved out of the twelve women who do line dancing twice a week. Four of them hit it off and they walk a few miles together daily. Nice women. They vacation together. Go to the theater and art shows together. I’d kill to be in their little circle. But I’m not physically able to keep up, so I settle for seeing three of them at book club and Mahjong—and all four at the Secret Society of Liberal Ladies’ Tuesday night dinners. If we have lunch off campus, I can ask any of them for a ride—and they’re always gracious.

We have a clique I affectionately call the Blind Bats Club—because they all have macular degeneration. They eat dinner together on Saturday nights, ordering Black Russians and sundaes alongside the nightly special. They also attend events at the local Association for the Blind together, and have great senses of humor—whether you’re telling them to flip their knife when cutting meat or offering to be their seeing-eye dog between buildings. I often eat with two of them at the farm table.

Then there’s the generational clique of women who all turned ninety this summer—and threw themselves a birthday party, inviting all the other residents. One of them proclaimed she's not passing up dessert anymore. And then there's the Catholic clique which is large and as busy as bees building a honey cone.

We also have a clique who make it their business to catalog everything outdoors they think needs improving—trees that need trimming, potholes that need fixing, bark beds too thin or too thick, etc. The five of them have formed a subcommittee under the resident council. I stay far away from that council—while they’re always recruiting, it sounds like nitpicky work to me. 

Probably the only clique here that isn’t open to outsiders—and who’d want to join—is the Grumpy Old Men’s Bridge Club. A name I had no hand in creating, by the way. We once had a bridge club that met twice a week with three tables of players. But the men didn’t like playing with some of the slower women, and a big fight took place. Now we have two bridge clubs: one for the women and one for the men. Several couples who liked playing with their spouses dropped out completely because of the in-fighting.

Back a few years ago, there was a movie set in a retirement community called Queen Bees, where the main characters were described as “Mean Girls with Medic-Alert bracelets.” I didn’t like the film. I thought the characters were too stereotyped, and I wasn’t experiencing the same types of people here that were in that comedy. We don’t have a horny old guy who hits on everyone, for example. Nor do we have a horny old woman who hits on everyone. And very, very rarely does anyone tell a person a seat at their table is taken. We don’t generally save seats for anyone.

But to my horror, I found myself doing just that recently. We have a clique called the First Thursdays Dessert Club, where we eat dessert instead of lunch on the first Thursday of every month—and we eat it with no regrets. A guy came in, asked to sit with the five of us, and I found myself saying, “This is a desserts-only table.” He looked at our banana splits, a stunned expression on his face, and said, “You’re serious!” Then he sat down next to me and ordered soup. ©

 

Until Next Wednesday... here's a follow-up on late week's post. The before and after photos of my teeth whitening, 30 day process. I can see the difference but I'm not sure anyone else will be able to.