On Getting Old -- 18

As you travel the path of old age, you often think of times gone by and of those people who filled those spaces.

At a fiftieth high school class reunion a couple of years ago, I reacquainted myself with some fellow classmen I hadn’t seen for some time. We kept in contact from that time on. One day Danny, one of the guys I kept in contact with, told me of a fellow basketball player, Johnny, who has been living in an assisted-care facility.

Finally, four of the fellow jocks from high school years decided to visit with Johnny. Beside Danny and me, Warren and Phil joined us for the get-together.

Remember, the last time I saw Johnny was fifty years ago. A strapping young man motoring around the BB court like a demon. We entered his tiny apartment and saw this old bald man with a crown of scraggily gray hair sitting on the side of his bed—a walker propped up alongside of him. What happened to that player of fifty years ago I wondered. The weathering of time was not kind to him.

The five of us sat in the bedroom bullshitting of days gone by. Each one trying to top the other with instances funny or important only to us. After an hour we went to lunch at a neighborhood hot dog stand not unlike the ones we frequented those fifty years ago. How sad to see Johnny struggle to climb into the SUV—the man who soared high with a jump shot on the courts of yesteryear.

Another hour of joking and kidding each other at the diner, and it was back to Johnny’s rest home. We all promised to not wait another fifty years to get together again.

I wondered about today’s candy. Was it mine or was it Johnny’s. I know this group of guys added many happy thoughts and remembrances for our friend. After thinking about the afternoon I did come away with my candy—the pleasure of an exciting and memorable afternoon for a lonely friend with a bunch of old foggies.

Ciao