Although personally I have found that humor is the best way to deal with the infirmities and indignities that come with the passing years. My day was made last week when a client, after I mentioned that I was 69, she, a thirty something, said, “You don’t look 69 Don.”
When I started practicing law I told the 82 year old senior partner that some of the clients seemed uneasy taking legal advice from someone much younger than them. His prophetic response: “Time will take care of that problem kid.” And so it has.
Amen. I, as a certified Boomer born in 1954, only wish that our Leftist peers could acquire the skill of applying humor to unpleasant situations. Or just learn to have a sense of humor at all, which in my experience most of them lack.
I managed to get up the last time I fell (a couple of weeks ago). My knee still hasn’t recovered.
My poor late mother fell twice in her last few months. She had to crawl to the couch the first time. The second time I was watching her and she rolled out of bed. I needed help to put get back to bed.
I am “only” 62. It hurt my back being a pallbearer. It hurt more moving furniture out of my mom’s house. One’s body hurts more with age.
I don’t think people laugh at the plight of the fallen person. I think they laugh at the “chessyness” of the production values of the commercial and the continual repetition of the commercial, much as I find the “Kars for Kids” commercial both irritating and funny. I’m thankful that I can still get up – albeit very slowly and carefully – from the floor.
I think of an older woman – maybe about seven years my senior – whom I would occasionally help with her car after Sunday mass. She would put her walker in her trunk and walk carefully to the driver’s door, holding onto the car. Then, she’d fall into the car to drive. I helped her a few times, putting the walker in the trunk after she’d entered her car more easily. She was thankful and, the last time I saw her, she turned to me – the diminutive, sweet old lady just leaving church – and said, “The Golden Years have come at last. The Golden Years can kiss my. . .”
Late to the party, as usual, but I must share my mother’s remark to me about aches and pains.
I happily looked after her until her death at 95. “Oh don’t worry about that pain honey, it will just go away and another will immediately take its place”.
So I stopped worrying as she was right.