Health and Fitness Journal

Everyone gets old. It’s an inescapable fact of life. And yet a lot of people seem to be having trouble accepting it, including me it seems. It’s not me that’s having trouble with getting old; I’m having trouble with you getting old. Would you mind doing it a little more logically?

Case in point : I went to visit my uncle the other day. He has just turned seventy-three, and although he looks pretty good, he is starting to lose his hearing. I know the proper response to this sort of thing should be empathy, but it my case the response is anger. Barely suppressed. Why? As he gets older he seems set on also prematurely aging the people around him.

How? I’ll give you an example.

Here’s the setting: My aunt Marnie, my uncle Steblen and I are sitting in the den. A light snowfall can be seen through the picture window behind my aunt Marnie’s head. An antique grandfather clock chimes eight o’clock. I had planned to get out of my meeting with my aunt and uncle by six, by they had insisted I stay for supper. I had found it hard to refuse. Now supper is over and we are seated together for some light after-dinner conversation. My uncle cocks his head towards me and speaks:

“What…did…you…saaaaay?” he breathes, sounding a lot like hotcakes on a griddle, air hissing out of your bicycle tyre, a snake. “I didn’t say anything,” I say with a smile, back. “Whaat?” replies my uncle. He turns to my aunt, “He…said…something. What..did..what was that?” My ears are turning red. It’s…8:20. “I can’t..you’ll have to..speak..,” my uncle stammers. “I.. didn’t.. say anything,” I repeat.

At this point my aunt intervenes, “Your uncle Steblen’s having a little trouble with his hearing recently.” Oh my god. My brain is melting. I can see a bit of it pooling on the floor by my shoe.

Why doesn’t someone give him a pad and a pen? Like that Amish girl in “The Piano”. Or that hot Japanese high school girl in “Babel”. That thought reminded me of my date with my girlfriend, waiting for me at the Duck N’ Fox Pub. Listening to U2 without me. Brutal.

“I…Am…SORRY..,” I announce suddenly, glancing back and forth between my aunt and uncle as I say this. “But..I…have…to LEAVE…NOW.” I have chosen self over deaf uncle. God has cut ten years from my life as payback. But I have to leave.

My aunt looks at me as if she isn’t seeing me. How do she and my uncle function when I’m not here? Perhaps she’s crazy…Wait. Don’t think about it. My uncle looks back and forth between her and myself. “I…HAVE…,” I begin.

“Yes, yes, we know,” says my aunt, with a wave of her hand. “Steblen, Arnak has TO GOOO,” she bellows across the space separating their easy chairs. The force of her bellow ruffles the pages of a House And Garden magazine lying on the side table between them. I grit my teeth. The open page shows a vibrant grey-haired man playing with an Irish Setter. They both have great heads of hair.

Eventually I leave. When I arrive at the Duck N’ Fox I find my girlfriend has gone home. Somehow I feel I am failing in both my duties to her and my family.

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