I was fortunate enough as a child
to grown up having known 7 out of 8 of my great grandparents, and all 4 of my
grandparents. I know that it’s rare to have even met one or two, so I feel very
lucky. From a very young age, I became accustom to spending time at nursing
homes thanks to regular visits with my great grandfather, Grandpop. I think on
some level, I felt more at home there than I did with children my own age. As
an only child, I probably spent more time hanging out with my grandparents than
I did with my peers. Of course it probably helped that every time we went to
see my great-grandfather, I became the star of the nursing home. Little old
ladies knitted me dresses for my dolls and slipped me candy when my grandmother
was preoccupied. I was “the cutest thing you’ve ever seen” and I knew it.
Even after Grandpop died, I felt at
home in nursing homes when I went to Christmas carol or visit on school chorus
trips. Other kids hated the smell and the way the old people just sat around
and sometimes yelled at them. To me, it was just another day.
The notion that old people liked me
and enjoyed my presence stayed with me even as I got older and at some point I
became convinced that every old person did, or at least should, like me. This
became difficult when I began spending time with my mom’s grandfather, Big
Granddaddy. Big Granddaddy did not like me. I don’t think it was me, per say,
but children in general. I don’t think he quite knew what to do with them,
especially when they did things like cry, laugh, or display any outward signs
of affection. This was a problem, because I was (and still am) an affectionate
person. I like to give hugs and make sure to tell the people close to me that I
love them. This made Big Granddaddy uncomfortable. It was easy to see, by the
way that he tensed up and made incoherent growling noises when I approached
him, but looking back, I think that was part of the appeal. Every old person I
had met loved me, so Big Granddaddy presented a challenge. While most of my family
had written off displaying any sort of affection toward him, I felt that it was
my personal mission in life to break his gruff shell. I would make him like me,
whether he wanted to or not. I began devising ways to break him:
I tried valiantly to win him over, but every attempt seemed
to make him more and more convinced that he wanted nothing to do with small
children. Eventually, he passed away, and I was left with the bleak
understanding that I had given my best effort and still failed. Several years
later, my grandfather told me that Big Granddaddy really did like me, and had
even gone so far as to call me cute on one occasion. While I felt vindicated,
something inside me still felt like I had failed.
It was around that time that I began to notice other grouchy
old men who reminded me in some way of Big Granddaddy. They might have looked
like him, or acted like him, or simply chewed on toothpicks for hours on end.
Whatever the reason, I was drawn to these men and saw a need to succeed in
making them like me to somehow compensate for my previous failure. My new
“Projects” have consisted of church members and family friends. I estimate an
86% success rate (Okay, I just picked 86 out of the air, but I do feel like
I’ve had some major successes. Maybe not 86%, but it’s still fairly high).
Now that I’m in college, I have a more difficult time even
meeting, or striking up friendships with old people. Part of the problem is
that there simply aren’t large numbers of old people roaming college
campuses. And my old tactics have probably lost most of their effectiveness. At some point, a person stops being “the cutest thing you’ve ever seen” and
starts being a creep if they don't change their methods.
So now I find myself in an awkward place where I’m afraid of
crossing that line and yet still plagued by my desire to build friendships with
the elderly. Three years ago when I first came to Longwood, I noticed an
elderly man who ate in the dining hall for almost every meal. He was very old
and slowly shuffled along as he walked. His back was slightly hunched and it
made his head poke out of his jacket in a manner reminiscent of a turtle.
He
looked a little bit like Big Granddaddy. Needless to say, I was hooked. I’ve seen
this man for three years now, eating alone at every meal, and lately the urge
to talk to him has become overwhelming. He seems lonely, a little bit like a
puppy who wanders into your yard and looks at you with sad puppy eyes, silently
begging you to throw a stick for him.
I see this man every morning at breakfast, and
I think “one of these days, I’m going to go and sit with him, and introduce
myself and he’ll tell me lots of stories about when he was my age, and then we’ll
be breakfast buddies”. And then I think, “what if he doesn’t want a breakfast
buddy? What if he sits by himself because he doesn’t like people? Or what if no
one sits by him because he’s grouchy and they’re afraid of him? Or what if he
thinks that I’m crazy because I have no better reason for sitting next to him
than “You look lonely and since I think old people are adorable, we should be friends!"
No...I don't see that going over well at all...
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