Personal essays
I can do it myself
Just a number
“95,” Kim’s grandfather answered. He smiled at the person who had asked, looked at Maggie, and then he looked at me.
He jerked his head towards Maggie and said to me, “old men and babies. They always ask us how old we are.”
That was more than twenty years ago but it popped into my head this week.
He went in to talk about other parallels between how people treated the very old and very young.
I was in the middle.
The motorcycle
Twenty years before that I’d wanted to get a motorcycle. It seemed like a cheap way to get from my apartment to the school I taught at. Easy to store, inexpensive to maintain,…
My mom said “no”.
She thought I would get hurt. She thought I would hurt others. She just didn’t think it was safe.
I had all sorts of good reasons. There were things I needed to do and things I wanted to do and a motorcycle would make all of them easier.
Mom said, “no”.
I honestly don’t know why I listened, but I did.
I found other ways to get around. I did all of the things I needed to do and all of the things I wanted to do. They weren’t as convenient - but I found ways of doing them that didn’t involve a motorcycle.
I haven’t thought of that story in decades.
Changes
I thought of it this week because this was the week that mom was told she shouldn’t drive anymore.
People who cared about here were worried that she would get hurt or that she would hurt others.
They thought she shouldn’t drive and they thought she should move from her cottage into an apartment where she could walk down an indoor hallway to pick up her mail, eat her meals, and take part in events.
I honestly don’t know why she listened, but she did.
Not at first. At first she was angry and lashed out. Then she was hurt.
I texted Maggie to update her on what was going on. I told her that someday she would have to take my keys away from me.
“I’m sure,” she texted back, “that you’ll be as gracious as your mom was.”
I smiled. No one knows me better than my daughter. Of course I won’t be gracious.
I texted back, “When it’s your turn you can just say to me, “I don’t care, you’re not going to f’ing drive.’”
The path ahead
I remember Maggie and Kim’s grandfather sitting next to each other on the couch and him making comparisons with how the two of them were treated.
It wasn’t just their age. It’s the intrusive questions. It’s people making decisions for you.
Maggie noted (that’s Maggie now, not when she was five), that it’s got to be tough to feel your privacy and agency being stripped away “for your own good.”
People wanting to do things for him or for her that they could do for themselves.
The old and the young. We’re just trying to help them and sometimes we forget to let them do things for themselves even if it takes longer and doesn’t come out quite the way we think it should.
I’m guessing I’m going to be a miserable old man.
At some point they’ll take away my car keys and they’ll tell me I can’t live on my own anymore.
I’m sure I’ll be angry. I’m sure I’ll be hurt.
I hope I get over it as quickly as my mom did and decide that the move is the best way for me to make the most of the time I’ve got left.
Essay from Dim Sum Thinking Newsletter 298. Read the rest of the Newsletter or subscribe