The “Assisted Care” Incident…

A very good friend of mine is going through some struggles in his interaction with an elderly person; in responding to his situation (Of course—MY advice was the usually sound “Drink Heavily”) I recalled an incident that occurred when I put my Dad in an assisted care facility for 3 months back in 1996.

I say “three months”, ’cause that was about as long as it took Dear Old Pops to completely and utterly alienate the ENTIRE staff, including the Nurse Ratched-like Director; his walking papers soon followed, earning him the honor of being THE only person who was kicked OUT of that place in its history—but that’s a story for another entry…

Upon admittance to the “God’s Waiting Room” assisted living facility, my 88 year old dad attracted more interest/attention from the female staff than an Altar Boy in a Priests’ Pool Cabana.

Here’s the thing—after about the age of 50 or so, men start dropping off this ball o’ mud faster than you can say “I’m sick of my nagging wife—just let me die NOW!” By the time that folks get to be 75+, when most kids start offloading “the problem” that IS an aging parent, women outnumber men by about 8-1; so a man that shows up at a place like that gets virtually POUNCED on—”You mean you can drive at NIGHT?!”

Dear Old Dad, being a career alcoholic, with brass plaques that said “Reserved for Richard Jones” in front of ~50 barstools in watering holes spread out over the whole state of New Jersey, had 52 THOUSAND old jokes—before long there were two women virtually SCRAPPING IT OUT for his affections—Mary & Beth. Dad made (what appeared to be) the “correct choice”—the same one that 99 out of 100 men would make; to wit: The woman with the larger breasticles—’cause that’s what men DO.

During one of my weekly visits to see him, he recounted his and Mary’s daily post-lunch ritual—they would lay down together face-to-face on top of his bed; Dad would fondle Mary’s breasts, while she would simply hold his “manhood” in her hand; a touching and tender picture that brought a tear to my eye…

After a mere two weeks of this, he suddenly (and mysteriously, at least until his explanation) “switched alliances”—he took up with Beth. During a subsequent visit, I asked him why—”Gee Dad, I see you’ve taken up with Beth and dropped Mary like a bad habit; what gives? Beth isn’t prettier.” “Nope”, was his monosyllabic reply. “And Beth’s breasts are smaller”, I pointed out. “Yep”, he said. “She doesn’t seem any friendlier”, I countered. “Nope”, (Dad was never too chatty with me)…

“So what does Beth have goin’ for her that Mary DOESN’T?” I queried…

“Parkinson’s”—BINGO; case closed!


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