He’s 91 and has an eye for the ladies…as well as a lightning-fast set of hands, according to the aides.
His brother says “Yeah, he’s an all-right fella- as long as you keep your legs crossed, that is!”
So I approach Chuck with care and still manage to box myself into a tight corner of the dining room.
He is a perfect gentleman.
When he tells me he wasn’t sent to the nursing home by his doctor but rather, just walked in on his own and decided to live here, I decide to check out his awareness and memory in greater detail.
“So, are you retired?”
Chuck looks startled. “Well, I certainly hope so,” he says. “I’m 91 years old- I’d better be!”
Chuck can’t remember how many children he has or what he did for a living. When I ask him what his father did for work, Chuck rests his forehead on the heel of his hand and sighs. “Well, now…I never did know the man all that good.” He struggles for another moment and then I see a slight smile play across his lips. “Oh, yeah, now I remember. My father was associated with the bench.”
“Ah, I” I nod, thinking for a second that I get it. Chuck’s dad was an attorney.
But an unconscious flicker of instinct stops me, alerting me that all might not be as I assume.
“Your father was associated with the bench?” I echo.
Chuck grins. “Yeah, you know, the bench out front you sit on? That’s the one he was most associated with!”
We laugh our asses off.
1 comment:
I wish my wit was as quick NOW. :)
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