As you read today’s blog, you will notice a recurrent theme – but I forget what it is.
“How was your golf game, Jack?” said his wife.
“I was hitting pretty well, but my eyesight’s gotten so bad I couldn’t see where the ball went.”
“Well, you are 75. Why don’t you take my brother Scott along?”
“He’s 85 and doesn’t even play golf anymore.”
“But he’s got perfect eyesight. He could watch your ball.”
The next day Jack took Scott along. While Scott sat in the cart, Jack teed off, and the ball disappeared down the middle of the fairway.
“Did you see where it went it?”
“Well, where is it?”
Dad gave up golf long before he got to this stage in his life, but he and Mom enjoyed the game when they were younger. When Christian was little, they lived in a subdivision that had a nine-hole, 3-par golf course where they both enjoyed knocking the ball around now and then. One weekend when we were visiting, I put Christian in his stroller and followed them to the course, intending to be the sidelines gallery. But two doting grandparents and all that green grass were too tempting for a child with new walking skills, and he soon finagled his way out of the stroller. I held him protectively while clubs were being swung, but as the golfers walked from hole to hole, I put him down and let him toddle after Nana and Granddaddy. The little white balls caught his attention and the inevitable happened. Granddaddy landed a shot right in the middle of the fairway. Christian screeched with delight, ran after the ball, picked it up and proudly presented it to his Granddaddy. Laughing as only a grandparent can, Dad accepted the ball and put the scorecard in his pocket. Everybody was a winner that day!
William’s wife started noticing how forgetful he was becoming. Being the concerned wife, she convinced him to see a doctor. When the doctor came in, he sensed his patient’s nervousness, so he asked William what was troubling him.
“Well, I seem to be getting forgetful. I’m never sure where I put the car, whether I answered a letter, where I’m going or what it is I’m going to do once I get there, if I get there. What can I do?”
The doctor thought for a moment, then answered in his kindest tone, “For starters, you can pay me in advance.”
Dad always paid his bills on time. When he applied for a loan, the credit managers were amazed that there wasn’t a single negative item on his credit report. This changed as his dementia kicked in, and by the time I began to pry into his business, he was regularly paying late charges that were often more than the original monthly payment. I got his accounts in order, set up on-line payments and intercepted the few bills that came in the mail. I went over his bank statement with him every month, and I left his checkbook on his desk to give him some feeling of control over his finances. From time to time he picked up the checkbook and spent a few minutes looking at the register. He was confused by the on-line entries that had no check numbers, and occasionally he tried to write a check for one thing or another. I usually intercepted them and either rerouted or destroyed them. He wrote one check to the church, though, that I never found and that never came through the bank. Maybe the Lord intercepted that one directly and destroyed it since Dad’s bill had already been paid in advance when, as the old hymn says, “Jesus Paid It All.”
A group of guys who had attended college together were all turning 40 and decided to meet for dinner. After much discussion they chose the Chez Francé restaurant because the waitresses wore short skirts and low-cut blouses. They had a great time and agreed to reunite every ten years to enjoy a great meal and catch up on their friendship.
Ten years later, as the group approached 50, they unanimously decided to return to Chez Francé because the food was fantastic and the wine selection was excellent.
At 60 years of age, the men discussed the possibilities and once again settled on Chez Francé. The atmosphere was peaceful and quiet, and the restaurant was smoke-free.
After another decade passed, the 70-year-old men reconnected and decided Chez Francé was still a good choice because it offered senior discounts and was wheelchair accessible.
Amazingly, a decade later all of the men were still living. At 80 years of age, they gathered to discuss where to eat. Finally, they all agreed to dine at the Chez Francé because none of them had ever been there before.
To celebrate Dad’s 86th birthday, we went out for Mexican food, one of Dad’s favorites. When it came time to order, Mom and Dad were confused. They had trouble making decisions even when they were younger. At their age and state of mind, the two pages of seemingly endless combinations of tortillas, meats and sauces were overwhelming. They asked me to order for them, so I pored over the menu trying to find something “special.” After a few minutes, everyone including the waiter was waiting for me to make a decision, and I realized that anything would be special to Mom and Dad, so I chose an old standby. When their enchiladas with rice and beans arrived, they were both as excited as if they’d never tasted anything like it before.
Three mischievous old ladies were sitting on a bench outside a nursing home when an old man walked by. One of the ladies yelled at him.
“We bet we can tell exactly how old you are.”
The old man said, “There’s no way you can guess it, you old fools.”
“Sure we can! Drop your pants and under shorts, and we can tell your exact age.”
The old guy was embarrassed, but never one to back down from a challenge, he dropped his drawers.
The ladies put their heads together and made another request.
“We need a little more information. Turn around a couple of times and to jump up and down several times.”
He was really uncomfortable now, but he felt like he’d gone too far to back down, so he did what they asked.
Stifling giggles, they said in unison, “You’re 87 years old!”
With his pants around his ankles, the old gent said, “How in the world did you figure that out?”
The ladies were choked with laughter, but one of them managed to gasp out, “We were at your birthday party yesterday!”
I don’t have a Dad story to top that one. He was known to wander around the nursing home in the middle of the night in his underwear, but I’m pretty sure that’s as far as it went.