Why do old men write their life stories? My happenings today may give a hint. Came home from the doctor with a prescription that I was told might be a help. Put my key in the front door deadlock – I couldn’t turn it!
Went down to the garage phone but couldn’t reach my son. Went back upstairs, not knowing what else to do. I was thumbing through a magazine. I’d picked up yesterday’s mail on the way in.
David, who delivers the meals from the Fallbrook Senior Center, arrived upon the scene. I told him my sad story. “Let me try,” he said and unlocked my door. “A little rough spot, but got past it,” he added. The problem was not that my locks had suddenly frozen up. The problem is my fingers – I don’t have the strength to turn the key!
Old men would rather be remembered for who they once were, not what they end up being. I would like my kids to remember their dad as the guy who led them climbing up the 896 steps to the top of the Washington Monument – just so they could say they had – rather than being the guy who couldn’t open his own front door.
Happy ending – My son, Ken, lubed the locks with graphite and all is well. Sorta.