Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Today I made a new friend at the Soldiers Home—and came face-to-face with the reality that I am losing another.
Ken Levick and I have chatted at Bingo before, but today he was in the Activity Center when my original gin-rummy partner was called into a health-care conference. Ken had seemed interested, so I asked him to step in.
He did. And once again, my Soldiers Home assumptions were shattered. Ken is usually quiet, and I’d never seen him laugh, so I assumed he was a little introverted. Well, if you want to get to know a man, challenge him to a game of cards.
Ken is sharp as a tack, sweet, funny and quite competitive.
At one point, he asked me how old I thought he was. I was thinking 74 but decided to guess low.
"Sixty-eight," I suggested.
He smiled a huge smile. "Thank you," he said. "Now guess again."
This time I went for 74. He gave me a thumb’s up, which didn’t mean I was right; it meant I needed to go higher. I tried 81. Not even close.
Ken is 90.
"You look like you’re in your 60s," I told him. He said he hears that a lot.
We were interrupted by the recreation therapist, who asked to talk to me. My former rummy partner was having a hard time in the conference, she said, and asked her to ask me to come back another day. Actually, she said more than that—not so much that she would violate his privacy, but enough that I feel I would do so by saying any more.
At any rate, I had to fan my eyes. She asked whether I was OK. I said I was, and I figured I would be, as long as I could get back to Ken and the cards and keep occupied. Then she said something about a hug. At first I thought she was suggesting I hug the resident, but she meant I looked as if I needed a hug. And I guess I did.
"We take care of each other here," she told me. "After all, if we don’t get attached to the people we’re here to help, then what’s the point?"
Ken and I resumed our card game, played to a virtual draw and told each other how much we’d enjoyed the time together. I made an appointment to interview him—and realized I’d probably just laid the foundation for one more attachment at the Soldiers Home. Which is the point, after all.
Today I made a new friend at the Soldiers Home—and came face-to-face with the reality that I am losing another.
Ken Levick and I have chatted at Bingo before, but today he was in the Activity Center when my original gin-rummy partner was called into a health-care conference. Ken had seemed interested, so I asked him to step in.
He did. And once again, my Soldiers Home assumptions were shattered. Ken is usually quiet, and I’d never seen him laugh, so I assumed he was a little introverted. Well, if you want to get to know a man, challenge him to a game of cards.
Ken is sharp as a tack, sweet, funny and quite competitive.
At one point, he asked me how old I thought he was. I was thinking 74 but decided to guess low.
"Sixty-eight," I suggested.
He smiled a huge smile. "Thank you," he said. "Now guess again."
This time I went for 74. He gave me a thumb’s up, which didn’t mean I was right; it meant I needed to go higher. I tried 81. Not even close.
Ken is 90.
"You look like you’re in your 60s," I told him. He said he hears that a lot.
We were interrupted by the recreation therapist, who asked to talk to me. My former rummy partner was having a hard time in the conference, she said, and asked her to ask me to come back another day. Actually, she said more than that—not so much that she would violate his privacy, but enough that I feel I would do so by saying any more.
At any rate, I had to fan my eyes. She asked whether I was OK. I said I was, and I figured I would be, as long as I could get back to Ken and the cards and keep occupied. Then she said something about a hug. At first I thought she was suggesting I hug the resident, but she meant I looked as if I needed a hug. And I guess I did.
"We take care of each other here," she told me. "After all, if we don’t get attached to the people we’re here to help, then what’s the point?"
Ken and I resumed our card game, played to a virtual draw and told each other how much we’d enjoyed the time together. I made an appointment to interview him—and realized I’d probably just laid the foundation for one more attachment at the Soldiers Home. Which is the point, after all.