The Joys that Come with Age

"What creature walks on four legs at the dawn, two in the midday, and three legs in the evening?" the Sphinx asked Oedipus. At least I think that's how it goes. As I recall, the answer to the Sphinx's riddle was "Man - because he crawls on all fours as an infant, walks as an adult, and uses a cane in his old age."

Speaking of old age...

I have a hearty esteem for the elderly. Anyone who manages to stick around 80 years has my respect. At the same time, one can't deny that sometimes, as people become more childlike in their old age, they render stories that are by one token sad, but by another, howlingly funny. My general rule of thumb is that I will not take myself seriously as an old person, (Why start then?) and I should hope if I do something laughable, people are not afraid to guffaw.

For instance:
A friend had a grandfather who, upon his own occasional epic episodes of flatulance, would crane his head around sharply, demanding, "Who's that? Who's there?!"

How could one not giggle like an idiot?

A sister of mine worked at a home where a tiny, ancient French-Canadian lady refused to eat breakfast. When J gently but firmly steered her back to the table, the tiny lady went into little girl mode - stamping her foot angrily, and flinging her ever-present tissue to the ground in a fit of rage. As the tissue fluttered gently to the floor,(perhaps not the effect she had intended) she would declare, "I'm goin' to TOWN!"

When I'm old, I hope that somehow I manage to avoid troublesome things like brain shrinkage and the type of thing that puts one into the company of people such as This lucky lady.

This story is the reason I've been thinking about age today. The Boy's grandfather did the exact same thing a few years ago. What boggles me is that he managed to superglue BOTH his eyes shut. One I could (sort of) understand, but BOTH-- reportedly, the grandfather put the "drops" into one eye, noticed they stung a little, but proceeded with the next anyway.

Upon finding he was rendered blind via his epoxied eyelids, he sat quietly on the bed until it was clear that the Boy's uncle was awake, then called him in a little voice to inform him that there was something wrong with his eyedrops. (the "little voice" gets me - in both the lady and grandpa stories. What other type of voice could you possible have but a meek and sheepish one after doing something like that?)

The uncle took him to the hospital, where some jackass of a doctor decided it would "just wear off on its own." So they went home again. The uncle stayed home from work, understandably, and together they sat on the couch so the uncle could tell the grandpa everything that was happening on Murder She Wrote. In the Boy's family version of the story, this section in accompanied by the teller making a very interested face and leaning forward, except with his or her eyes tightly closed. "Yes? yes? What now?" The uncle says things such as, "ok... now Jessica is underneath the window in the bushes. She's listening to the conversation... Oh! They might have seen her!"

Later, the uncle took the grandpa to another hospital, where they told him the first doctor was a jackass. The glue had dried on the surface of the grandpa's eyes, creating a hard contact with sharp edges that scratched every time he shifted his eyeballs. Through sheer determination and merciless ripping, the medical staff opened them again. Today the grandpa seems no worse for the wear from it.