I just got off the phone with an 85-year-old guy named Ken, who was an athlete of some renown in his heyday. Now, in this community, dealing with people in their 80s, 90s or 100s is common, and sometimes, well, it's tough. You can't understand them. They can't hear you. They're confused. You're confused.
Often, it doesn't end well. So I was worried about this guy, who I'd never spoken with before.
Turns out, I had nothing to be concerned about. He was awesome. Kinda gruff and crotchety, but generally nice. Then, he says this about the fact that I called his daughter's home line to speak with him, instead of his own (he lives in his daughter's basement suite):
"Yeah, I got my own line about a year ago because I was sick and god-damned tired of taking stupid messages for my grandson. I mean, Jesus, he's 15 years old – what in the hell do 15 year olds have to talk about that much, anyway? I didn't even think they knew how to talk on the phone – don't they just text nowadays anyhow?"
Then he explained why he moved into his daughter's house, from his previous place downtown.
"I decided to move here about five years ago, because I got tired of living by myself. It's boring, being alone all the time, you know? TV's not as good as it used to be – it's all this reality crap or cooking shows – so it gets pretty boring if you're by yourself."
This is exactly how I hope to be when I'm old.
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