Vintage People

One of the mistakes we can make when meeting elderly people whom we have not known in their younger days is to fail to appreciate their unique personalities. I learned this lesson when my son was little. Since we did not live near either his paternal grandmother or maternal grandfather, we used to visit nursing homes to spend some time with their residents. I discovered how prone I was to stereotype the “grandmas and grandpas” (as my son called them), as though white hair adequately defined them as a demographic I could easily categorize.

We made this a “family affair” and my husband often joined us. Over time, each of us had our “favorite” person to share our time with during our visits. My son was a big hit with the group of women who sat around and played cards. Because he was not a shy person, he endeared himself to them with his jokes and funny faces. I enjoyed my time with a woman who told me about her husband who had been a surgeon and had passed away almost two decades before. She was eager to share about her six grown sons who had followed in their dad’s profession. My husband’s friend, Earl, was quite a character. He would repeat the same stories over and over again about the “good old days” and never failed to express his gratitude for the “ratios.” At first, my husband did not question him about this, feeling as though he should have known what Earl meant. Finally, he inquired, “What ratios?” Earl bent over and whispered in his ear, “The ratio of women to men. It’s great to be this outnumbered; there are women all over the place and I am one of three men!”

These stories came to mind today when I received an email from a friend from childhood. She and I remain friends, having first become acquainted because our mothers were each other’s best friend. She keeps me up-to-date with news about her mom. Aunt Carrie, as I used to refer to her, is now in her late 80s and unable to live alone due to a number of strokes. I have fond memories of summer vacations and holidays spent with her and remember her as a fun-loving, spirited woman with a pronounced sense of humor. As the story below will demonstrate, she hasn’t changed all that much. Her daughter writes,

The other day, I took [my mom] to her monthly “aphasia” meeting at Greenwich Hospital with a group of aphasia patients. Aphasia is the communication problem that people get with words and thoughts due to brain injuries.

Anyway, the group was humming some obscure 1935 song. I think it was called Melody of Love. Everyone was humming and only my mother was singing the words, which actually sounded great. The doctor who runs the meeting said, “Caroline, you knew all the words! That’s wonderful.”

My mother, upon leaving the group, came over and whispered to me, “I made them up.”