I had lunch with Dad today. Funny thing about my Dad. He’s 70, but he constantly refers to elderly people, like the ones that live in his senior apartments, as “old duffers.” He prefers not to hang out in the common room because it is just “a bunch of old people sitting around.” But he’s not crotchety about it – he’s not like the dad from shitmydadsays, which is hilarious. I could capture all the funny Michigander sayings he says, though – that would be entertaining, like “If the lord’s willing and the creek don’t run dry,” a variation on “If the lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise.”
It makes sense to me – I know how he feels. Every year for as long as I can remember, I’ve thought to myself, “I’m older, but I feel exactly the same inside.” Not older, not wiser, not more mature. Me is me is me. We should be more tolerant of the older people in our lives, even the strangers we come across, because when we get elderly ourselves, we’re going to feel the same inside as we did when we were kids. But our bodies and our society are going to betray us.
So we had a good talk at lunch, Dad and I. I got him to tell me all about growing up on the farm in Michigan. He remembers his family as dirt poor, but extremely content with life and each other. About the only family I know that didn’t grow up with some sort of trauma, or drama. Pretty unusual. I was able to capture this tale for the NaNoWriMo novel – whether I’ll end up using it or not.