Mike in his room--and in his 'Dysfunctional Veteran/Leave Me Alone' hat
January, 2009
The first day I showed up to volunteer, I felt lost. Lynne, the volunteer coordinator, suggested I head to the nursing-care building to see whether anyone needed help getting to the dining room for lunch. I found a couple willing residents right away, but then I was really lost. I lingered around a nursing station while the nurses tried to round up lunchers, and noticed a cowboy-looking dude leaning against the wall.
Just then, a wailing siren went off above someone’s room, and a strobe-like light flashed.
"What is that?" I asked the Marlboro Man.
"Looks like someone just crossed over to the ghost side," he drawled.
"What? Seriously?" I was not prepared for death on my first day.
He grinned. Apparently my hyperventilation was just the reaction he was hoping for.
"Naw – someone just wants some water or something," he said. "No big deal."
His name was Jim, and he was a smart-ass. I like a smart-ass. I asked him what he was doing loitering around the nurses’ station, and he said he was visiting his friend Mike. I asked whether he’d introduce me.
He walked into Mike’s room. "I’ve got a woman for you," Jim announced, and motioned for me to come around the curtain. "She cute enough for you?"
"Hell, yeah," Mike said. (Mike has since had the cataract surgery he really, really needed.)
Mike was sitting on his bed in his half of the two-person room, stuffed with a bed, a dresser, a wheelchair, an oxygen machine … and now, three smart-asses. On one wall above his bed were a poster of an airplane cockpit, a picture of his son and granddaughter, and a dream-catcher. Somehow, Mike looked frail and spry at the same time – lanky and long, with a neatly trimmed beard and wispy hair poking out from under a black hat bearing an official-looking insignia above the words "LEAVE ME ALONE." (Upon closer inspection, the insignia reads: "Dysfunctional veteran." I have since given a similar one to my dad.)
Mike and Jim launched into a raunchy nostalgia trip of partying, women and trouble – all at the veterans home. They’d been buddies a long time, and they laughed and laughed.
I haven’t seen Jim again, but I sensed (and hoped) that day that, little by little, Mike would continue to let me in.
It might have been lucky timing, or pure coincidence, that I was lost and found Jim. But meeting Mike changed my entire experience at the veterans home, and my life. He is now one of my best friends anywhere, anytime.
The first day I showed up to volunteer, I felt lost. Lynne, the volunteer coordinator, suggested I head to the nursing-care building to see whether anyone needed help getting to the dining room for lunch. I found a couple willing residents right away, but then I was really lost. I lingered around a nursing station while the nurses tried to round up lunchers, and noticed a cowboy-looking dude leaning against the wall.
Just then, a wailing siren went off above someone’s room, and a strobe-like light flashed.
"What is that?" I asked the Marlboro Man.
"Looks like someone just crossed over to the ghost side," he drawled.
"What? Seriously?" I was not prepared for death on my first day.
He grinned. Apparently my hyperventilation was just the reaction he was hoping for.
"Naw – someone just wants some water or something," he said. "No big deal."
His name was Jim, and he was a smart-ass. I like a smart-ass. I asked him what he was doing loitering around the nurses’ station, and he said he was visiting his friend Mike. I asked whether he’d introduce me.
He walked into Mike’s room. "I’ve got a woman for you," Jim announced, and motioned for me to come around the curtain. "She cute enough for you?"
"Hell, yeah," Mike said. (Mike has since had the cataract surgery he really, really needed.)
Mike was sitting on his bed in his half of the two-person room, stuffed with a bed, a dresser, a wheelchair, an oxygen machine … and now, three smart-asses. On one wall above his bed were a poster of an airplane cockpit, a picture of his son and granddaughter, and a dream-catcher. Somehow, Mike looked frail and spry at the same time – lanky and long, with a neatly trimmed beard and wispy hair poking out from under a black hat bearing an official-looking insignia above the words "LEAVE ME ALONE." (Upon closer inspection, the insignia reads: "Dysfunctional veteran." I have since given a similar one to my dad.)
Mike and Jim launched into a raunchy nostalgia trip of partying, women and trouble – all at the veterans home. They’d been buddies a long time, and they laughed and laughed.
I haven’t seen Jim again, but I sensed (and hoped) that day that, little by little, Mike would continue to let me in.
It might have been lucky timing, or pure coincidence, that I was lost and found Jim. But meeting Mike changed my entire experience at the veterans home, and my life. He is now one of my best friends anywhere, anytime.
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