Crabby Old Man

As I was searching through my writing resource files I came across the following item. It was sent to me quite some time ago as one those emails making the rounds. I don’t know why I saved it, but as I look at it now I seem to reflect on it more personally than I might have at first. I remember as my grandparents aged and as my mother reached the 100-year mark. I know of others who also found themselves in declining years with the declining abilities that come with the territory.

When I checked the story with Snopes, an Internet hoax tracker, I found it to be a well worn story with a number of different starting points, but not without a sense of authenticity. I decided that, for me, it didn’t make any difference where it came from. The story is worth repeating.

CRABBY OLD MAN

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Tampa, Florida, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.One nurse took her copy to Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation (here) has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

What do you see nurses?......... What do you see?
What are you thinking.......... when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man......... not very wise,
Uncertain of habit......... with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food......... and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice......... 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice......... the things that you do.
And forever is losing......... A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not......... lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding......... The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?......... Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......... you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am......... As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding......... as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten......... with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters......... who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen......... with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now......... a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty......... my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows......... that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now......... I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide......... And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty......... My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other......... With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons......... have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me......... to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more,......... Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children......... My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me......... My wife is now dead.
I look at the future......... I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing......... young of their own.
And I think of the years.......... And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man......... and nature is cruel.
'Tis jest to make old age......... look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles......... grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone......... where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass......... A young guy still dwells,
And now and again......... my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys......... I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living......... life over again.

I think of the years--all too few......... gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact......... that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people......... open and see
Not a crabby old man.....Look closer....see......... ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

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The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart. God Bless.

My Way

Over the past several years, since I retired from working for someone else, I have had adequate time to consider personally the process of change that comes with aging. Don’t get me wrong. I do not feel or consider myself to be “old,” but the availability of time itself has provided the opportunity to become aware of certain changes. Also, as many do at this time of life, I have given thought to the events of my life, particularly those I now feel I might have handled in a different way.

Being a fan of the music of Frank Sinatra, I thought of one of the songs he recorded, My Way1. In that song he offers a review of life many of us could identify with. Some of the words follow.

And now the end is near;
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I’ll say it clear,
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain.

I’ve lived a life that’s full.
I’ve traveled each and every highway;
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Of course, there are many ways to look at the words of the song. I do not think of it as bravado, but rather a reflection of a person seeking to believe he balanced his life and in the end comes out a victor and not a victim. I have to admit to realizing that I am where I am because of my choices through the years. I realize that I am one who has done it my way.

I used to think that if I liked where I am and felt good about myself, then whatever road it took to get me here was okay. I still believe that to some degree, but now I realize that being a bull in a china shop is probably not okay, even if you get out with only a few broken items. As I use this time of reflection to assess my journey, I have to admit there is sadness about some of the paths I have taken, and about some of the losses along the way. There are people no longer in my life that I used to care about a lot. Somewhere along the way we came to a juncture and they took the other path. I wonder, could I have done something differently at that point that would have done more to maintain our friendship even though we chose different paths? On the other hand there are those with whom the friendship has stood the test of many storms.

Ultimately, I believe, one who only does it his or her way will be a person alone. It is not necessarily difficult to be alone, but it is another thing to be lonely. I suspect that if you are alone long enough you will become lonely. If you get to the stage of loneliness, it is much more difficult to reintegrate socially. It is easier to find reasons why being alone is okay. Though I spend most of my time comfortably ensconced in my “nest,” I did not really feel lonely or lose my desire to communicate with others and to write. Of course, I didn’t have to go outside for that!

What I find appealing about writing is that I still feel a sense of discovery as new ways of thinking about things emerge from my consciousness and end up on the page before me. Truly, there is nothing new under the sun, as the saying goes, but personal discovery of an idea or concept or of a new way of looking at life stimulates my being and creative juices begin to flow again. Then I realize how wonderful it is to be alive! How satisfying it is to feel the very spirit of life, love and wisdom filling my day with a sense of productivity.

As I look back upon my life from the vantage point of my current years, I realize that part of living life my way has included honoring the values that I have discovered are important in making me the person that I am. In the final analysis, perhaps it is not so bad that I chose somewhere along the line of my life travels to do it my way. Again,

Regrets, I’ve had a few;
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

(This is an excerpt from the complete article written for my planned upcoming book with the working title: Moments.)

1 (P. Anka, J. Revaux, G. Thibault, C. Frankois) [Recorded December 30, 1968, Hollywood]