I am always amazed at how the very old and the very young are similar. Firefly use to ask the same things, "Tell me about when I came from China," "Tell me about when I was little and we drove to the beach."
Grandma is dying of Alzheimer's, but she has an usual variety. She can remember recent events well, but her early life has become a blur over the years.
"You were a total badass Grandma!" I exclaimed, "You went to Rice at 14 for mathematics. It was completely unheard of! Then you kept getting all the A's in the classes until the professors told you you were ruining the curve for boys who needed those A's for their career, so you got a degree to be a schoolteacher."
Grandma smiled.
"So then World War II happened, so you became a spy in the Navy. Not like a secret agent, but you listened in to tapped phones to see if anybody in Hawaii was conspiring against America. That is where you met grandpa. He was working in the army as a Rabbi.
Gramdpa was an amazing man. I never met him, but I wish I had. He was a Rabbi who did not believe in God, but his family had put him in rabbinical school when he was quite young and so that became his profession. He came to terms with it by decided that even if God did not exist, that belief in God was an amazing and powerful positive influence in people's lives, and that by helping other people believe in God he could make people's lives better. They say he died 5-10 years early because he kept sneaking out of his hospital bed to do last rites for other patients."
Grandma chuckled a little bit, "Oh Pika, you don't need to make up things like that to make me feel good. Why don't you tell me a real story?"
***
"I wasn't always old you know."
"Of course not Grandma!" I said, "Everybody was young once, and you were so cool too!"
Grandma smiled that smile which says she thinks I am humoring her again. I suppose some people can not be convinced...
"Tell us a story grandma!" I said. Grandma never brings up being young unless she remembers something.
"I use to ride horses. I use to gallop across the fields..."
"That's wonderful!" I said, "English or Western?"
Grandma tapped her hearing aid, "What?"
"I said English or Western riding?"
"What?"
"Did you jump?"
"What?"
"Did you ride the horse over jumps?"
"No."
The room gets quiet as the debris of my attempt at polite conversation settle. Grandma looks ashamed at having to ask me to repeat myself so many times.
"Of course not Grandma!" I said, "Everybody was young once, and you were so cool too!"
Grandma smiled that smile which says she thinks I am humoring her again. I suppose some people can not be convinced...
"Tell us a story grandma!" I said. Grandma never brings up being young unless she remembers something.
"I use to ride horses. I use to gallop across the fields..."
"That's wonderful!" I said, "English or Western?"
Grandma tapped her hearing aid, "What?"
"I said English or Western riding?"
"What?"
"Did you jump?"
"What?"
"Did you ride the horse over jumps?"
"No."
The room gets quiet as the debris of my attempt at polite conversation settle. Grandma looks ashamed at having to ask me to repeat myself so many times.
***
Three years after my attempts to tell Grandma about Rice, Grandma barely ate in front of us anymore. She had trouble using a fork to put food in her mouth, and she was very ashamed of it.
"Nathan liked this," she says as she passed time rearranging the food on her plate with the tines of her fork.
I catch the cue and ask loudly, "Tell us about Grandpa!"
Grandma smiled, "Well, Nathan was a very interesting man. He proposed to me on the very first date."
"No!" I say. Grandma finds it easier when I talk more in emotions than words, and with very few words at a time.
"Yes, yes he did." She smiles one of the first genuine smiles I have seen in a while, "He really did." She paused and then laughed, "I thought he was crazy."
"Well," Mom asked like you might ask a small child, "What did you do?"
"I went home to my father and told him about it."
"And what did he do?"
"He said that sometimes in life you just have to take a chance."
"And you were happily married until he died!" Mom finished.
Grandma nodded.
"That's beautiful Grandma," I said, but Grandma was done talking. I could tell she was having problems with the subtleties of what Mom had said, but she didn't want to go into a "what" cycle again. I'm never sure if Grandma can catch the horrendously condescending tones of voice Mom uses on her, or if perhaps I'm just sensitive to her because I have seen a great deal of her interactions with very small children.
If our culture had stories like The Fox and the Bear, maybe they would tell us that old people lose their hearing but not their speaking because they don't need to hear as much anymore, and because it is their turn to be heard instead.
I wonder if I was to tell her this story again later if she would not believe this one was real either.
"Nathan liked this," she says as she passed time rearranging the food on her plate with the tines of her fork.
I catch the cue and ask loudly, "Tell us about Grandpa!"
Grandma smiled, "Well, Nathan was a very interesting man. He proposed to me on the very first date."
"No!" I say. Grandma finds it easier when I talk more in emotions than words, and with very few words at a time.
"Yes, yes he did." She smiles one of the first genuine smiles I have seen in a while, "He really did." She paused and then laughed, "I thought he was crazy."
"Well," Mom asked like you might ask a small child, "What did you do?"
"I went home to my father and told him about it."
"And what did he do?"
"He said that sometimes in life you just have to take a chance."
"And you were happily married until he died!" Mom finished.
Grandma nodded.
"That's beautiful Grandma," I said, but Grandma was done talking. I could tell she was having problems with the subtleties of what Mom had said, but she didn't want to go into a "what" cycle again. I'm never sure if Grandma can catch the horrendously condescending tones of voice Mom uses on her, or if perhaps I'm just sensitive to her because I have seen a great deal of her interactions with very small children.
If our culture had stories like The Fox and the Bear, maybe they would tell us that old people lose their hearing but not their speaking because they don't need to hear as much anymore, and because it is their turn to be heard instead.
I wonder if I was to tell her this story again later if she would not believe this one was real either.
***
"But it’s the truth even if it didn't happen."
I'm awkwardly balancing my books on the little L which forms the armrest of my seat, unable to move my feet very far because I'll kick the person in front of me. High school and air travel both sometimes seem to be the fine art of getting people to accept being treated like cattle.
"What did Ken Kesey mean by that?" My American Literature teacher is pacing the front of the room.
"Wasn't he high all the time?" one girl asked, twirling a chunk of her hair in her fingertips, "Maybe it is just nonsense."
Junior year of highschool meant I had already had several experiences of hallucinating from the medication I was being fed. Perhaps that is why this book was probably the only piece of literature I was forced to read that year that I liked.
"Maybe," I said, "These things seemed so real that they impacted him and had effects on him as if they were real things."
"Ah," the teacher asked, "So that makes them real?"
"Of course not," I said, "Real things are real, fake things are not, all I'm saying is it doesn't have to be real to be important." I'm sure at the time I was nowhere near as eloquent.
"Yeah," another student said, "Otherwise real things could be fake if everybody forgot them."
I'm awkwardly balancing my books on the little L which forms the armrest of my seat, unable to move my feet very far because I'll kick the person in front of me. High school and air travel both sometimes seem to be the fine art of getting people to accept being treated like cattle.
"What did Ken Kesey mean by that?" My American Literature teacher is pacing the front of the room.
"Wasn't he high all the time?" one girl asked, twirling a chunk of her hair in her fingertips, "Maybe it is just nonsense."
Junior year of highschool meant I had already had several experiences of hallucinating from the medication I was being fed. Perhaps that is why this book was probably the only piece of literature I was forced to read that year that I liked.
"Maybe," I said, "These things seemed so real that they impacted him and had effects on him as if they were real things."
"Ah," the teacher asked, "So that makes them real?"
"Of course not," I said, "Real things are real, fake things are not, all I'm saying is it doesn't have to be real to be important." I'm sure at the time I was nowhere near as eloquent.
"Yeah," another student said, "Otherwise real things could be fake if everybody forgot them."
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