Is age the determining factor in being able to do something? If you were younger, would things happen differently?

 

You wish you were younger. However, . . .

 

 

Some Things Don’t Change With Age

 

     My alarm clock blared. I reached over to the nightstand and shut it off. Why I set it in the first place was a mystery to me. I had no place to go this morning—no doctor’s appointment. Sun peeked through the bedroom windows. I began to get out of bed. I had to pee badly. As I did     . . .

     “Oh my God!” I screeched. The pain in my back was awful. And it shot down my left leg. My knee was numb and my foot cramped.

     Today is my birthday, I thought. I’m seventy-nine years old. “What the hell was I thinking, when I wished for a long life?” I muttered.

     “You were thinking living long was a good thing. As you know, I lived to ninety.”

     “Huh. Who are you?”

     “Who am I? Are you serious? We were together for fifty-six years.”

     “I’ve been divorced three times. Nobody’s been in my life that long.”

     “You’ve always been slow to realize the obvious.”

     “What are you talking about?”

     “Stop staring at your cramped foot. It won’t help the pain go away. Just look up.”

     In slow motion, I raised my head, somewhat afraid of what I would see. “You’re not her, are you?” I yelled in disbelief.

     “Well, what do you know? You finally got it. Took you long enough.”

     “What’re you doing here, Mom? You’ve been dead for thirteen years.”

     “Dead is an outdated concept. In a world of advanced technology, I’m able to do what I want to do and be where I want to be.”

     “And you wanted to be here?”

     “You were never capable of doing things on your own. And apparently, you still can’t. So I’m here to give you the opportunity to change your life.”

     “This must be a dream. This can’t be happening.”

     “Ow! Something pinched me.”

     “Not something, someone.”

     “Who?”

     “Me. Do I have to give you all the answers?”

     This was getting weirder by the moment. “Okay, you’re back and there’s nothing I can do about it. Growing up you always were my boss and I couldn’t do anything right.”

     “You’ve got that wrong. You chose me to be your mother. That was right.”

     “Chose you?” I gasped.

     “Let’s put the past behind us and move on,” she directed.

     “That would be fine with me. Nice seeing you, Mom, Maybe we’ll run into each other again some time. Good-bye, I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

     “I’m not finished and I’m not going anywhere until I am.”

     “I could never win growing up and things certainly haven’t changed. So, boss, you’re in charge. Go for it.”

     “By the way, ‘Happy Birthday.”

     “Thank you,” I moaned.

     “How old would you want to be today, if you had a choice?”

     “I haven’t thought about it, because I know I don’t.”

     “But now you do, so?”

     “I don’t know,” I said in frustration.

     “Well, you’re seventy-nine. Add the two numbers together.”

     “All right. Seven plus nine. That’s sixteen.”

     “I knew forcing you to take that advanced Math class was the right thing to do.”

     “So, I’m sixteen? But I don’t want to go back in time. I was dumped by my girlfriend and failed my driving test twice.”

     “No, you’re not going back anywhere. You’re sixteen today—November 13, 2023.”

     Before I had a chance to reply, Mom disappeared. I started to wiggle around on the edge of the bed. My body felt strange. I put my hand on my face to scratch my beard, but it wasn’t there. I wasn’t in my bedroom and I didn’t have to pee.

     I walked over to the mirror on the closet door. What I saw blew me away. I was taller and much better looking than I’d ever been. I didn’t have a pain in my body. And staring at me from my dresser was my provisional California driver’s license.

     A state-of-the-art computer sat on my desk, with my cell phone sitting beside it. And it wasn’t the “Jitterbug Smart3” for seniors I’d just purchased from Best Buy two days ago.

     With a new world and a new life ahead of me, I headed toward the kitchen. Sitting at the table was a girl I’d never seen before. When I entered, she turned and said, “Good morning little bro.”

     This was strange, because my “real” sister was two years younger than me. I muttered, “Good morning.”

     She looked me in the eye and stated, “Have you told Mom and Dad what you didn’t do for them?”

     “What I didn’t do for them?” I asked, somewhat confused.

     “You said you’d pick up the Thanksgiving turkey that they’d ordered from Safeway. Then you came home without it last night. Since you told me you’d get up early this morning and go and get it, I promised to keep my mouth shut.”

     “I don’t remember any of that happening. You’re making it up.”

     “I’ve had it with you, little bro. This is not the first time you agreed to do something and then didn’t follow through.”

     I struggled to come up with a response, but couldn’t think of anything to say. My mind was a blank. I guess, “Some things don’t change with age.”

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Relationships don’t always work out as planned. At times, however, you believe the right thing to do is to keep trying.

 

From the bottom of your heart, you believe things can get better . . .

 

 

Even Now

 

Even now

we can find

our way.

 

Even now.

 

It troubles me

you cannot see

the gift

I bring

to our relationship.

 

It troubles me

you question

my sincerity—

the words

of love

I share.

 

It troubles me

you won’t

take my hand

and face

the future—

our destiny

together.

 

Why?

Why?

Why?

 

When did it

all disappear?

How did I miss

the signs?

 

Take a deep

breath.

Suck in the cool

autumn air.

Exhale and picture

what can be,

not what was.

 

Even now,

we can find our way.

 

Even now.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Should a father and son always be open and honest with one another? And what if they’re not.

 

Family secrets can have strange consequences, as you will see in . . .

 

 

Honor Thy Father And Other On Halloween

 

     The dark gray clouds, draped like a shroud, obscured the sun. My mind drifted in and out of my own mental fog. I felt confused about life, and what happened next didn’t help matters.

     It was Halloween and my father appeared to be on a mission. He said he had to get to the store to purchase the newest, magical “iSomething.” Why he needed it, I couldn’t figure out.

     Later in the day, I sat at the kitchen table and awaited his return. He’d been gone over five hours. I worried about him. Seventy-six years old, legally blind in one eye, with reflexes slowed by age, he still drove his beat up old Ford. I hated that he was still driving, but he’d just received his driver’s license renewal from the DMV. So there was nothing I could say to him that would change his mind.

     “Honor thy father,” he would chant, anytime I disagreed with his stance on an issue. “Just honor thy father.” And so I did.

     The phone rang, shaking me from my stupor. I picked it up off the table. “Hello,” I muttered. “Yes, I can come. How is he?” No answer. Just a click and I was disconnected.

     I raced to the bedroom, threw on a pair of black trousers and the wrinkled plaid shirt I’d worn yesterday, picked up my car keys off the nightstand, and ran to the garage. I backed the car out and headed down Logan Way toward the freeway.

     My heart raced and my hands shook. What the hell did Merritt Hospital want? They just told me to come, but didn’t answer my question about how he was. I swerved in and out of traffic in an attempt to get to the hospital as fast as I could. With one eye glued to the rearview mirror, I prayed I wouldn’t be pulled over.

     I exited the freeway at the Merritt Boulevard Exit, turned left, and sped toward the hospital parking lot. Stopping at the control gate, I reached for a parking ticket. The gate rose and I pulled into the first open spot I saw. I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t been stopped for speeding or ended up in a hospital bed after a collision. I got out of the car and bounded into the hospital lobby. I froze in fear of what stood before me—a cop.

     The officer approached. I’m going to get arrested for sure, I thought.

     “Mr. Jackson. Tony Jackson,” he called out.

     I gasped, “How do you know my name?” Must’ve gotten it from tracking my license plate.

     “You are Mr. Jackson?” he inquired, with authority.

     “Uh, yeah, I am.”

     “Please come with me.”

     “Okay. But I only drove as fast as I did to get to the hospital. I think my father has been in an accident. I had to get here. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

     The officer looked at me with a befuddled look on his face. “I don’t have a clue what you are ranting about, sir.”

     I stood stunned by his remark. “Then what do you want?”

     “I need you to come with me.”

     “Why?” He didn’t answer.

     “Just follow me, sir.”

     I trudged behind him and got on the elevator. The door closed and we proceeded to the sixth floor. The door opened and he motioned to me to exit.

     We walked down a long, dimly lit corridor. The rooms we passed all had locks on them. “Where are we?” I asked, my voice quivering.

     “You’ll soon find out,” he said, in a way that sent chills running down my spine. “Now keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”

     Then he grabbed my arm and shoved me against the wall. My head hit a low hanging pipe and I collapsed into a sea of darkness.

     When I came to, I found myself alone in a sterile room tied down to a hospital bed. I tried to free myself, but to no avail. I heard voices coming down the hall. Then it became quiet. A key being placed in the lock of the door made a clicking sound as it turned. I had no idea what to expect, so I pretended to be asleep.

     Three men entered the room, all dressed in gray suits and blue and gray striped ties. They wore badges, not police badges, but what looked like military badges. Perplexed by this, I became anxious. Then the largest of the three men turned to the tallest of the other two and spoke, “General, I believe he is ready.”

     Ready? Ready for what? I thought. Tension gripped my body. Then a man who appeared to be my father, dressed in a dark black suit, entered the room. My father hadn’t worn a suit like that in over ten years. The three men turned, stood at attention, and saluted him. He returned the salute.

     “At ease men,” he proclaimed in a loud, strong voice.

     “”Dad, what’s happening,” I murmured.

     “Dad? I am not your father. However, I do know the man you are talking about. I have seen him on my frequent visits to the hospital. Some say he is my double. But I am the President of the United States of America, not this other gentleman you are . . .”

     Interrupted in the middle of his sentence by the door of the room being smashed open, he stood silent and stared. Two uniformed hospital guards, accompanied by three city policemen, seized the four men and placed them in restraints. One of the guards, with the appropriate hospital badge affixed to his blue uniform jacket, came over to me and untied me.

     “Mr. Jackson, I’m so sorry for what has happened to you.”

     “Where am I?”

     “You’re in the Psych Ward. There appears to have been an inmate takeover of the ward, one of which we were not aware of, until now.  At least one patient was able to get down to the lobby to greet you. How these patients managed to obtain a police uniform, badges, and dress clothing is a mystery to us, but some ward residents do work in the hospital laundry, which our staff, including city police officers assigned to our public hospital, are permitted to use.”

     “How did you know I was here?”

     “A desk clerk witnessed what occurred in the lobby and reported it.”

     “What about the call I received to come here? Is my father all right?”

     “I don’t know who made the call. However, your father isn’t here.”

     “But that man over there. He is my father, isn’t he?”

     At that moment, a doctor, dressed in a white lab coat entered the room and approached the “President,” who ranted about his right to be free to run the country. “Mr. Jackson, calm down,” the doctor ordered.

     “So he is my father,” I screamed.

     “No,” said the doctor. He is your father’s identical twin brother. He has been here for thirty years. Your father has visited him once a month, during the entire time he has been under our care, including today.”

     “Including today?” I asked, with a puzzled look on my face.

     “Yes, including today.”

     “So he’s my father’s brother?”

     “Yes, the other Mr. Jackson—the one whose existence your father chose to keep secret all these years.”

     This statement upended me. I paused for a second to collect my thoughts. And then mumbled, “You did say my father was here today?”

     “I did. We found him and four ward staff members locked in a room down the hall. We’re bringing him to you, as we speak.”

     Before I could reply, my father entered.

     The “President” took one look at him and then looked me straight in the eye and commanded, “You must honor me, today, as you do your father. For I am the other . . .”

     At that moment, the guards took hold of him and removed him from the room. I just stared in disbelief. My father embraced me. The entire episode left me speechless—something I’d never been before in my life. This was the scariest Halloween I’d ever experienced.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.