Please be kind to old folks

Under the Christmas tree remains an unopened gift all wrapped in blue paper with little angels and words written Joy and Hope. Inside is a gift for a special little boy. It sits there waiting and hoping to be claimed and opened. So many things in life are like that gift. Waiting for someone to claim them and open and enjoy their contents. Seek and you will find, ask and it will be opened to you, receive and you can take it with you. It is a gift. You don’t earn it, you don’t deserve it and you can’t buy it. It is a gift. Isn’t that amazing? You cannot do anything to get it, but simply take it in your hands open it up, look at it and then enjoy it. But the story doesn’t end there. What will you do with it? Will you lay it aside and think I will use it or enjoy it another day? Or will we pick it up hold it in your hands draw it to your chest and hold it with amazement and cherish it. Will we take care of it, protect it and put it places where it will not come to harm, or be pushed side and forgotten?

Old people are somewhat like a gift. They just want to be loved, cherished, and not put away on a shelf and forgotten. They mean well most of the time. They will call you by someone else’s name and they will say huh, or what did you say, until it drives you up the wall. They expect you to do things the way they were taught and that means shut the door softly, don’t walk in the house with mud on your feet , socks or shoes and whatever you do if the bed is made don’t you dare sit on it. Now when I was growing up the bed was always made and I knew it was a death sentence to get on that bed. I also knew if I dared go through my grandmother’s purse for any reason I might come back with a nub rather than a hand. Not really, it would be another of her famous scoldings.

We seldom went to granny’s house that she didn’t have a cake and most of the time chocolate, because we loved chocolate and she knew it. Once in a while we could get disappointed and a yellow one would be there in place of our favorite and she would say, “I have to cook for your granddaddy once in a while.”

My grandmother was a grouch but I always knew she loved me. She would frown and complain if we got things messy and I can assure you that she lived what she preached. I am sure there were other times, but I only remember one time when she put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me. I cherished that hug the rest of my life. When she passed away we inherited her old Coleman stove that she went camping with for years and had been put away for as many years. It was still in the original card board box with a piece of twine tied around it. I recall her slipping it under the back of the car to protect it while we camped. 

She had a glass B52 airplane that laid on a glass that was part of her dresser. Our granddaughter has that bedroom suit now. We knew we could look at it but best never touch it. When she let me hold it in my hands, it was a special time, and it was cherished as much as she cherished that little plane. She had two grandchildren and five great grandchildren and that airplane survived and remains intact to this very day. 

My grandfather was my hero. He took me to the movie in the middle of the school ground where it was called a free show and we sat on the ground on a quilt and walked home in the dark. I remember Frankenstein and I held on to his hand so tight he probably thought his would break. But in those warm soft fingers mine was safe. 

I remember leaving the school one day and as he began to pull on the road he asked, “is anyone coming your way?” I was pretty young and there was that steep hill and I didn’t see the car come flying over the hill and told him it was clear. We got sideswiped and I never remember him fussing at me. He always had a nickel or dime for candy and cokes ready when we went to the store. The only time he ever hit me with those soft safe fingers and I don’t know that to this day I could call it hit, was when he was sick and I kept pestering him, I have no idea what I was thinking or why I did it but I was standing and playing like I was slapping him. He told me several times to leave him alone or he would slap me. Now why would I believe that, he never had before. Finally he reached up and patted my cheek fast and light, but I got the point. I went away broken hearted and I cried like he had beaten me with a stick. I am sure he felt the same. 

These are just a few memories of old people. Whatever you do in this life, try to be patient, loving and kind to old people. Because I have a secret for you just in case you don’t know. Some day if the Lord is gracious it will be you that is that old person.