Long ago, stellar writer Rick Reilly gave me some sage advice. “Make sure you’re lead is something folks have never read.” I try like heck each week to come up with something unique. This week?
“Oh my God, what a bunch of knuckleheads!”
I shout that to the rooftops with a huge grin on my face in remembering Patsy Sue Perry’s first official weekend at her new home, Victory Hills. It’s a retirement/independent/assisted living facility in Kansas City, Kansas. It’s a beautiful setting right next to a golf course. Mom’s on the top floor. She has a spectacular view of the undulating terrain of Painted Hills. I’ve never played the course but respected golfing buddies say, “It’s a good track.” Mom and I have vowed to play it soon, once Mother Nature’s attitude toward weather turns warmer.
Anyway, I know there are many folks out there wrestling with moving a parent(s) from a place they know well to some foreign land. Imagine someone telling you to move? Caring for the aged is a critical social challenge we, as Americans, must resolve in healthy and productive fashion. That’s a topic for another day. This much I will say to an entrepreneur looking for steady work: Repairing wheelchairs and walkers for the aged might be a consideration. There is a market out there.
Back to the knuckleheads. Holy smokes. I had a blast hanging with mom. Older brother, older sister and her significant other hung around too. Highlights abound. Here are a few.
Mom’s next-door neighbor. What a trip. She stormed in and announced, “I’m calling the cops!” She was stunned someone was moving into the unit that she perceived was to remain unoccupied. For her, apparently, as the movers delivered mom’s cherished items, it seemed that a foreign army was invading.
To this woman, your sarcastic scribe offered, “Go ahead, call the cops. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to the McIntosh's.” She didn’t appreciate my humor. The rest of the weekend, whenever running into this diminutive dynamo she would just glare at me. I must admit to enjoying smiling at her and suggesting, “Have a nice day.” By the end of the weekend, like a cat and dog that initially growled and hissed, we silently negotiated a certain civility toward one another.
Later in the weekend, conversation about mom’s new neighbor and her brusque personality was permitted with some other “Golden Girls” preparing for a Sunday night Scrabble competition. One of the lovely ladies, with a beautiful blend of color in her recently well-coifed hair, raised an eyebrow, grinned and delivered, “She’s a character for sure.” Amen to that. Knuckleheads. We’re everywhere.
But it was an event earlier on this Sunday that really stands out. Mom and I headed for the afternoon chapel. A handsome young pastor was leading the service. There were about ten folks present, many with walkers or wheelchairs. Mom and I, about seven other ladies and one older dude.
We start singing to get things kicked off. Wow. Talk about off key. But we were loving it. After probably the worst rendition of “How Great Thou Art” in the history of ever, I shouted, “We should take this gig on the road!” The ladies laughed.
We finally - thank God - stop singing and the pastor launches into talking about Paul’s wise words in Colossians. He’s imprisoned in Rome but writing to the faithful in Colossae, imploring them to have a certain spirit about life. For instance, to be gentle and forgiving and never hold a grudge against others. Just my opinion, but that’s pretty darn good advice. Anyway, mom’s sitting next to me just laughing her arse off. This dude’s trying to lead a chapel service and the two newcomers - mom and me - are acting up. Mom’s clucking like a country hen. She leans over to explain. “I’m thinking of Eric and how he would be on your butt big-time right now.”
Mom was referring to Eric Goodman. He and I had a blast co-hosting three hours of sports talk before I departed to devote full time attention to Victory Productions and our mission to assist community causes with sustainability. He hated it when I began to sing. Hey, I’m just a simple dude from Missouri, but knowing he hated it inspired me to do it as often as possible. It’s the knucklehead within rearing its ugly head. You gotta keep your sense of humor right? Anyway, mom’s cracking up thinking about what the Chicago native would say about the horrific singing. Give us an “A” for effort, but the harmony left much to be desired. Nobody cared. Eric be darned!
So then I start cracking up, too. The pastor probably felt like ejecting us from the service. The traveling party of Patsy Sue Perry had been on premises less than 24 hours. We’d been threatened with the cops being called and were now in danger of being tossed from chapel. First impressions.
Thankfully the pastor had a sense of humor. We were spared eviction. We then saw something amazing happen. Chapel ends. Everybody grabs their walkers and heads for the exit door. All but one. Apparently, the service so moved one of the attendees that she rose to her feet, felt utter disdain for her walker and strolled right out the door. Mom shouts, “Hey, you forgot your walker!” The woman turned and pronounced, “The heck with it. I don’t need it.”
Mom and I looked at each other, giggled, and almost in unison exclaimed, “It’s a miracle!”
I saw it with my own eyes. This woman was transformed by the renewing of her mind. We can be, too. No doubt there are challenges present in life. They might be at home, work and elsewhere. What to do about them? Transform the mind. I know, simple, but not easy. It will require us to no longer conform to the patterns of our world. We can do it!
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