A PLAY THING FOR THE ELDER

Like everyone, I have dreams, fantasies and hopes. Not one of them involves me and a whole apartment house full of old people. But someone said, "Life is what happens, while we are busy making plans." I, personally, think it's just more proof that God has a sense of humor.

Since moving my mom to this retirement community five years ago, I am spending more and more time with people that should just go lie down and conserve their energy. They are very quiet; they sneak up on you when you come in the lobby. They put their walkers right in the door of the elevator; you have to talk to them.

It is sort of flattering, to them, I'm just a kid. I still have my own teeth, no gray hair (thank you, God, for my hair stylist and his supply of chemicals), I still walk with a bit of pep in my rear, I can still move fast. They must, at the very least, be jealous.

You look at this group; they look so fragile, like a slight breeze could throw them off center. Ha! These are the toughest, most stubborn bunch you can find. The weak had died off long ago. I have learned to be afraid of them. It is easier to do whatever they want than to try to reason with them or to just say, "No." They don't understand the word.

Yesterday afternoon I arrived to take my mother to the grocery store for her week's supply of snacks.....junk food. Try telling an eighty-nine year old woman that donuts, breads, and candies are not healthy. Go ahead; you try to explain it to her. I've given up.

In the lobby there was a one man band and my mom and all these elderly people were sitting there in a large circle. My mom and her friends were grinning and clapping their hands to the rhythm of some old rock and roll tune.

I just sat down in the nearest chair, 'cause I liked the music too. Before long, I was swinging my foot to the beat.

Suddenly, this old lady, about ninety years old, grabbed her walker and came across the lobby toward me. She stopped in the middle of the floor, all bent over, and waved at me. Thinking she was giving up her seat on the sofa to me, I sort of mouthed the words, "No, No, I am fine here."

Again, she peeks at me and waves for me to come there. "No, I’m fine right here," I mouth the words slowly and patted the chair.

With her third wave, she looked mad. I got up and walked to her, leaning over close to her ear, I told her I liked where I was sitting.

In a strong voice she asked me to dance. I lean over again, the music was loud, and tell her I can not and do not dance! I haven't danced with another female since high school. In a mad strong voice she tells me, "I can't dance either. Do you want to dance?" She had grabbed my arm in a vise, we were going to dance.

Everyone was watching and the singer was grinning. I moved her walker to one side, took her hands, and danced. It was a sorry sight on so many levels. She was never able to lift her feet or move them more than a couple of inches at a time. Several dozen eyes watched. The manager came out of his office and leaned against the wall. The music filled my soul. I danced.....just like I do at home when no one is watching. My behind went one way and then another, my feet moved like magic. I was totally embarrassing myself and it was wonderful, like flying. I helped the old lady turn around once, it took awhile, her feet moved one at the time in a careful slow shuffle. But she didn't look mad anymore.

The song was over way too soon for me, but she was beginning to glance at her walker. She gave a big sigh of relief when I helped her sit down. I knew she would be upstairs and in her apartment for a nap within minutes. But for a few minutes she danced. Me? I was feeling wonderful. That old lady had forced me to step outside my comfort zone. But I didn't make eye contact with the singer or the manager, they might not understand. They most certainly knew I wasn't a dancer.