 |
Anniversary Edition YEAR TEN BEGINS! |
 |
|
JUNE 10, 2001 |
 |
|
Maybe the best stories
are the really true ones
of TheColumnists.com
Old age ain't for sissies.
I can vouch for that. I'm 78.
Sooner or later, things start to change. Your brain seems to
get overrun with cobwebs like a garden choking with weeds. Your
hair, or what's left of it, turns gray. Your eyesight goes bad.
So does your hearing. The truth is life just isn’t what
it used to be.
But aging does offer at least one consolation--grandchildren.
You get to enjoy them without the responsibility of parenthood.
And they give you special moments.
To me, the best moments are the private times we share--especially
when the kids get ready to go to sleep and I come in to tell
them a bedtime story.
The three little ones are tucked under the covers—the 9-year-old
twins, Matthew and Samantha, and 6-year-old Ava—and I read
them a story.
Only of late I have noticed a change. Their attention span ebbs
and flows as I read. The kids become antsy. Their eyes peer around
the room. Their feet twitch under the blankets. It's clear they
are bored but too polite to tell this doddering oldster.
So last week, I tried something different. I stopped reading
and told them a story. It was a real life story. It was about
me, or really about something strange that happened to me.
As I talked, I didn’t notice any eyes wandering or any feet
twittering. The kids all listened in rapt attention. And then,
when I finished, the most extraordinary thing happened.
But I'm getting ahead of my self.
The story I told the kids begins when I came over for a visit
last week on the same day that Grandma Ga-Ga dropped in. (Ga-Ga
is the kids' pet name for their grandmother on my daughter-in-law's
side.)
Grandma Ga-Ga and I started chatting. After a few minutes, she
handed me something. "Here's a present for you," she
said. "It will bring you luck."
It was a two-dollar bill. I know that two-dollar bills have Jefferson's
picture, that they are rarely given as change, and that some
people carry them as a good luck token. I thought it was a nice
gesture.
But I wasn't anxious to add another bill to my wallet, already
bulging with my driver's license, credit cards, and a dozen other
cards that I carry to get by in our plastic card society.
"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," I said.
Grandma Ga-Ga wouldn’t be put off. She told me that a few days ago she went to the bank to get some $2 bills to give the grandchildren for luck. But the bank didn't have any. The teller told her she could get them only if she ordered 100 bills. She did, and after giving them to the grandchildren, she has been passing out the rest to friends.
"Okay," I said, "I'll pay
you back with two one-dollar bills."
Grandma Ga-Ga wouldn't take any money. She said that might break
the charm.
"Just keep it. Don't spend it. One day, it may bring you
luck."
As it turned out, nothing much happened that day or the next.
But on the third day, something did happen.
I was shopping at an upscale food store with my companion, Kay
Kramer. At the check-out counter, I gave a red-haired clerk my
credit card, signed for the groceries, and pushed our shopping
cart through the parking lot to our car.
I reached in my pocket where I keep my
keys and my wallet. A shudder ran through me. The keys were there.
But my wallet was gone.
"Kay, did I give you my wallet?" I said, trying to
cover up the apprehensiveness in my voice. She didn't answer
right away.
Like many people in the twilight of life, I have a problem with
short-term memory. I seem to be forgetting where I put my keys
or my glasses. In fact, I have six pairs of glasses--one for
every room in the house.
The worst memory time comes in the wee hours when I wake up with
my stomach growling. I go downstairs and find myself standing
in the dark in front of the refrigerator. I can’t remember
if I have eaten what I came for, or if I have just opened the
refrigerator door.
Kay still hadn't answered,
I thought back. Some years ago when I was shopping at Wal-Mart,
I left my wallet on a counter. Ten seconds passed before I remembered
what I had done. I dashed back. In those few seconds, someone
spotted it and scooped it up.
Gone was $94 plus all my identification and credit cards. The
next four months were a nightmare. I spent hours on the phone
day after day asking recorded voices to please replace my cards
and give me back my identity.
"Kay," I said, "please tell me you have my wallet."
There was a look of sympathy in her eyes. But she was shaking
her head.
Everything started to turn dark. I thought of the long ordeal
ahead. And then, I heard a voice calling.
The red-haired girl from the check-out counter was running toward
me. "Is this your wallet sir?"
I thanked her and watched as she turned and walked back into
the store. And then I realized I had more to do.
I followed her and caught up to her as she got behind the check-out
counter. The other clerks were watching. So were the shoppers
in line.
"Excuse me, miss. There's something I need to give you."
I handed her the two-dollar bill.
"Here's a two-dollar bill. Someone said it would bring me
luck if I carried it with me. And it did. Your good deed was
my good luck. So, I am passing the bill to you. Don't spend it.
Just carry it with you. And one day, like me, you may have good
luck too."
She smiled and so did all the clerks and the shoppers.
In the grandchildren's bedroom, there was a silence. I started
to leave. And then Matthew, Samantha, and Ava burst into applause.
That happened last month. When I reflect on that evening, a thought
comes to mind. I wonder if I have hit on a formula for an engrossing
bedtime story. If so, this old duffer must now be on guard to
keep track of the dramatic encounters he has in his everyday
life.
That seems like a daunting task. On the other hand, maybe it
will help clear away some of those gathering cobwebs.
©2008 by David Zinman. The Zinman caricature is ©2001 by Jim Hummel. The illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted Dec. 1, 2008.
TO ACCESS DAVID ZINMAN'S ARCHIVE OF COLUMNS ON THIS SITE, CLICK HERE: ZINMAN ARCHIVE
You can comment
on this column online. Please address your message to either
"The Editors" or David Zinman. To send an email, click
here and don't forget to mention David's name: talkback@thecolumnists.com
|
|
|
Archives |
|
|