Just recently the family moved our very aged Aunt Esther up here from Florida, where she had been in an assisted living home. Fancy talk for a nursing home. Many years ago, she and her husband, my Uncle Charlie, had retired there, but a few years ago Charlie had passed away at the old age of 86. Then Aunt Esther had a health problem crop up, and she ended up needing more care than could be given at home. With no family down there, it was time for her to come home just in time for her 90th birthday.
Fitting her into an assisted living place close by was no trouble, and I go almost everyday to check up on her, and to visit. It's a nice place, TV lounge rooms, a bistro on the main floor, hair salon, gym, and close by shopping where they take the seniors on a shuttle bus.
It was here I met a elderly gentleman named Don. Over 80, but still all there upstairs, he's a stout big guy, kind of reminds one of actor Peter Boyal. Being there almost everyday, I got to know him as he and my Aunt Esther are on the same floor, and attend some of the same activities.
Being a senior over 80 has it's own set of problems. Things that seem no problem to us, is a task to them. When they get back for a shopping trip, getting all the items out of the plastic blister packs can be a problem. Most have to ask for assitance from a staff member, and sissors are poked and snipped. For my Aunt, I just use my little classic, and if some of her friends are around I'll open their stuff as well.
I noticed Don, sitting in a nice over stuffed armchair, and he seemed to have no trouble at all opening plastic packaging. He would look around, not see any staff, and holding something in his hand, get it done. He looked over at me, smiled and said something about my tiny sak as being a good choice. He made a motion of his head, and I walked over there, and he had a classic concealed in his big hand. He has those knarly hands that look like they have worked hard at being a tradesman of some sort. Ends up Don was a bricklayer.
"You know, I've had a pocket knife on me most of my 84 years that I've walked the earth. Not till I come to a nursing home do they tell me I can't have a knife." he tells me quietly. "As long as I have my pants on, I'm gonna have my knife, even if it's the smallest one Victorinox makes!"
We talk about it, and he said when he saw me using my little classic, he knew he had someone to talk pocket knives with. Ends up Don was a sak enthusiest, and when he went into a nursing home, he choose the smallest sak to hide out on him. Looking at his hands, the classic wasn't even visable.
"Ya know" Don says, "It wasn't so bad getting old. But I don't understand why we have to be treated like little children and loose our rights just because we get old and have a few health issues pop up. I used to carry my sak with no problem for most of my life, and now I have to hide out a little classic like I was a con in the joint. Not that I'm complaining about my classic, I can do most anything I need to do at this point of my life with it. I mean, I'm never gonna go hunting again. Heck, they won't ever let me drive a car again!"
Don is a diabetic, and has problems with his eye's and walking. He uses one of those aluminum canes with the 4 feet on it covered by green tennis balls. But his spirit is undaunted, and he limps around in his twilight years with a hidden sak and a rebel spirit. we talk and compare sak's, and recall hunting and fishing trips. He tells me about how he gut and cleaned a fresh cought salmon with an old sak cadet on an Alaska fishing trip, and cooked the fish right there on an open fire. In his memory, it was the one of the finest meals he'd ever had.
"Hey," I ask him, "how do you keep it sharp?"
"Oh, I got a little diamond sharpener that looks like a little pen. I just touch it up when I'm in my room upstairs."
So there's old Don, at the Sunrise Assited Living For Seniors, with his hide out classic. In his own way snubbing the rules, and bent on carrying a pocket knife until the very end.
I guess Gary Cooper said it all; "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!"
Fitting her into an assisted living place close by was no trouble, and I go almost everyday to check up on her, and to visit. It's a nice place, TV lounge rooms, a bistro on the main floor, hair salon, gym, and close by shopping where they take the seniors on a shuttle bus.
It was here I met a elderly gentleman named Don. Over 80, but still all there upstairs, he's a stout big guy, kind of reminds one of actor Peter Boyal. Being there almost everyday, I got to know him as he and my Aunt Esther are on the same floor, and attend some of the same activities.
Being a senior over 80 has it's own set of problems. Things that seem no problem to us, is a task to them. When they get back for a shopping trip, getting all the items out of the plastic blister packs can be a problem. Most have to ask for assitance from a staff member, and sissors are poked and snipped. For my Aunt, I just use my little classic, and if some of her friends are around I'll open their stuff as well.
I noticed Don, sitting in a nice over stuffed armchair, and he seemed to have no trouble at all opening plastic packaging. He would look around, not see any staff, and holding something in his hand, get it done. He looked over at me, smiled and said something about my tiny sak as being a good choice. He made a motion of his head, and I walked over there, and he had a classic concealed in his big hand. He has those knarly hands that look like they have worked hard at being a tradesman of some sort. Ends up Don was a bricklayer.
"You know, I've had a pocket knife on me most of my 84 years that I've walked the earth. Not till I come to a nursing home do they tell me I can't have a knife." he tells me quietly. "As long as I have my pants on, I'm gonna have my knife, even if it's the smallest one Victorinox makes!"
We talk about it, and he said when he saw me using my little classic, he knew he had someone to talk pocket knives with. Ends up Don was a sak enthusiest, and when he went into a nursing home, he choose the smallest sak to hide out on him. Looking at his hands, the classic wasn't even visable.
"Ya know" Don says, "It wasn't so bad getting old. But I don't understand why we have to be treated like little children and loose our rights just because we get old and have a few health issues pop up. I used to carry my sak with no problem for most of my life, and now I have to hide out a little classic like I was a con in the joint. Not that I'm complaining about my classic, I can do most anything I need to do at this point of my life with it. I mean, I'm never gonna go hunting again. Heck, they won't ever let me drive a car again!"
Don is a diabetic, and has problems with his eye's and walking. He uses one of those aluminum canes with the 4 feet on it covered by green tennis balls. But his spirit is undaunted, and he limps around in his twilight years with a hidden sak and a rebel spirit. we talk and compare sak's, and recall hunting and fishing trips. He tells me about how he gut and cleaned a fresh cought salmon with an old sak cadet on an Alaska fishing trip, and cooked the fish right there on an open fire. In his memory, it was the one of the finest meals he'd ever had.
"Hey," I ask him, "how do you keep it sharp?"
"Oh, I got a little diamond sharpener that looks like a little pen. I just touch it up when I'm in my room upstairs."
So there's old Don, at the Sunrise Assited Living For Seniors, with his hide out classic. In his own way snubbing the rules, and bent on carrying a pocket knife until the very end.
I guess Gary Cooper said it all; "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!"
