THIS always gets me. Whenever my small fam and I walk around a shopping mall, everyday scenes where old people in benches watch their (or other people’s) grandchildren play nearby, always make me pause for a while.
Not only to smile, but to remind myself, I too, have become one of them. While I have to laugh at myself sometimes at realizing this, during some other days, that is a pleasant reminder.
After all, you’re not the sprite you once were and you deserve the cool down. Meanwhile, on other days, the discovery of how you suddenly got ancient is an irritating wake-up call that has me asking, what the heck happened?
For instance, there had already been two separate occasions when, by merely standing by the curb to momentarily admire the traffic of people crossing the busy junction in front of Davao Doctor’s Hospital, strangers had come to me to inquire quite suddenly, might they be of assistance in hailing a cab for me?
Even though only at the last seconds did I realize they are actually old acquaintances, what gets to me the most is this poser in my head, do I look that lost to other people?
(Not to worry, I have avoided waiting for a jeepney in that particular corner, even if that’s the last thing I do.)
When I had a medical procedure three months ago, it was normal to have family members doting over me, accompanying me in brief walks, supporting me as I climbed up stairs, and even to just right myself up out of bed or a chair.
Still, in the back of my mind, not all may have been necessary, as I could’ve done some of them myself. Besides, I felt when it was really needed, I would always be the first to say so.
Even then, it’s my mate who’s always first to bring my kite down to earth in the activities I used to do.
She says, no more unnecessary late nights (fine by me), except during gigs, which she still frowns on. She also insists, no more drinking, not even a bottle. Time for me to frown on this one. But it’s all good, the Mr. Hyde in me still sleeps soundly.
In all, as they say, especially at this golden time in one’s life, the one to listen to most is your body. Never mind what your foggy mind tells you.
Once, I was invited to play pickle ball by old friends. Thinking I used to play tennis tournaments in my younger days, this was going to be a breeze. We’ll, my 70-year-old frame didn’t think so.
Then a few weeks ago, after watching the Australian Open on my phone, I took out my racquet and practiced serving out in the street. Keeping it from me matey, I must’ve tore my rotator cuff or something.
Sitting alone now and remembering all these, my mind goes back to the old man sitting at the park bench. Lucky old geezer.
