geriatric love
I love old people. I do. Not like fake love. Like real love. I enjoy old foogies. They make me happy. Every time I see one, I want to hold its hand and walk it across the street, make pleasant conversation, ask how about their heart medication, and make sure they took their water pills this morning. Check in on them, did you eat this morning? Have your children visited you? Who was getting divorced on Judge Terry McMuffinhead? What did Regis and Kelly talk about this morning? Have you taken a nap yet today?
I think senior citizens inspire a caretaker mentality in me. Some people get all gushy and say things like “Oh! They’re so cute! I just want to pinch its cheek.” in reference to babies and puppies and cherubs. I feel that way about old people. I like geriatric cute. With their really slow walking and paper thin skin and stories about the olden days. And sure, I’ve seen batty old women and grumpy old men, but I interpret it as they’ve been hurt. Neglected. They’re grandkids don’t visit and they didn’t drink any prune juice so they’re not regular and they can’t eat bacon and they don’t know how to work the new crazy Comcast remote control. They’ve got cataracts and their hands shake and they have to take 15 different pills four times a day and all those damn pills are so small they can’t see them and can’t hold them and BLAST IT ALL! I’d be cranky too.
Every year, people for People Going Blind, or people for Stop Blindness or OH! I think it’s called the White Cane Society, I don’t know for sure. But those people stand on the crosswalk corners soliciting dollars for the People Going Blind foundation or Prevent Old-Person Blindness Non-Profit. If you give them a dollar, they give you a little white cane t
o wear on your shirt. They wear their ophthalmologist prescribed jumbo-tron sunglasses like these, but on an old person, that don’t allow sun rays from any angle, and their orthopedic Velcro shoes. They clasp their hands behind their slightly hunched backs and walk slowly from side to side saying “Donate for the Don’t Go Blind Society?” Or whatever foundation they are with, in their cute waver-ly voices that sound like they’ve been speaking for so many years they’re voice box could just give out any moment. When No Go Blind day comes, I’m always glad I don’t a) carry cash and b) don’t carry my ATM card because I’d give them all my money and not get anything done because I’d walk back and forth between crosswalks escorting them safely across the street.
That day came and went already this year. During my lunch break I went outside and looked at all the cute little old men in their beige Member’s Only jackets and the cute little old women matching pant/jacket nylon leisure suits. I lingered too long at cross walks, wondering if I could justify going into my bank, writing out a withdrawal slip, getting cash, requesting it in one dollar bills and spending my lunch hour collecting white cane pins from different geriatric solicitors. But, that seemed a little screwball, even for me. So I just smiled real big, and made eye contact, and nodded at them and carried on my way.
