Old People & Directions

Originally written 12/28/7

I guess as we grow older, we never continue or quest for more knowledge. About any subject. The older we get, the more we acquire, it turns into wisdom. And wisdom is what you leave behind to the next generation. Ah yes, older folks love to ask questions. And it hasn’t hit me until recently, that they crave directions. Got a story that involves multiple locations? Senior citizens will want turn by turn directions. I just don’t get it.

This point was driven home to me recently. Tara and I went to her parents house for a visit. When we got there, Jerry was there. Now Jerry really is a nice guy. Big laugh to match his big belly. He was in the Navy, was a cop, and still has the buzzcut to prove it. I do have to say he’s contributed more to society than my lazy ass has.

So it’s Jerry, my parents-in-law and us in the kitchen. Jerry likes to talk. He talks loud, and he has a lot of stories from the “good ol’ days”. One story revolved around him dropping off crabs to some friends’ houses. And that is when this point hit me. He vividly described how he went to the first house. “Aw, Jimmy’s house was up there on Torresdale. Ya had to make the left from so and so, go down a few miles and make the right by the…whatcha callit? It used to be the Tap bar, but now it’s some (hands in the air, middle finger rubbing his thumb like he’s pulling the answer from the air, flick, flick,flick)…clothes shop or tailor or something? Anyway, you made the left there, go down 2 blocks, and he was on the left. Schmiddty used to live right past him there.

“So then I had to go to Donny Mac’s. And, Christ, back then, he lived with that woman-what was her name (finger and thumb rubbing again)Helen? Helaine? Lorraine? Aw, Christ, you know the one, she had red hair and talked with an accent? Had the funny eye? Anyway, now I had to go clear across town. So Donny Mac (there is always someone in this story named “Mac”) was livin’ in Mayfair, so now I gotta go all the way over there. So, you know, I’m taking so-&so-street. Now back then, that road was only 2 lane, now it’s of course it’s 4 with all kinds of traffic. Donny lived all the way back off the main road. So ya hadda make the right by the…Christ, it used to be the barber shop. You know which one I’m talking about? The one Phil used to get his haircut at? So, yea, ya make the right there, and you’re on Bustelton for like 2 miles. Ya made another right, and he lived all the way back there. Christ (old guys sure do use profanity a lot), that’s Mayfair, right?

“Well, geez, that neighborhood sure has changed. Aw, Donny Mac is rollin’ over in his grave is he saw who’s living in his house now. Yeeaahhh, you kidding me? So from Donny Mac’s, I gotta drop the rest of these damn crabs off ta Danny’s. (Jerry is one of those guys that adds a –y to every name. Donny, Jimmy, Danny, etc) And he wants ‘em before 9. Well, Christ, it’s already 8:30, there’s no way in hell I’m geddin’ there before 9. So I take the shortcut out ta so-and-so drive, hightail it over Main, and get there 5 after. And he’s givin’ me shit!”

OK, so that’s not verbatim, but I think you get the point. And the whole time my in laws have this truly inquisitive looks on their faces like Jerry is telling them words from God’s mouth. And this isn’t even relevant to the story! Good lord.

Once is a fluke, but twice is a pattern, and sure enough, I see this again. In a later story, Jerry gives a lengthy monologue about how to get to his daughter’s house. Turn. By. Turn. And sure enough, there’s my in-laws, paying rapt attention, like these were the directions to the Fountain of Youth. “Aw, yea, Christ (again with the profanity), Will, ya take 309 all the way down. You know they’re doing construction all along there, right? Jesus, it’s all fucked up now, you kiddin’ me? So ya take that all the way past Quakertown…” My father in law interrupts. I don’t know if he does it to break up the monologue, or he is genuinely entranced by this story. “Past Montgomeryville?” “Aw, Jesus, yea,” Jerry bellows ,”you go through Montgomeryville, right through it. You’re on there a good 20 minutes. So you get to such and such farm. I mean, cripes, it’s all fucking farms up there. Well, you pass those farms, you get to another place that used to be a farm (again, we’re getting directions based on where stuff used to be. I don’t think Google maps gives directions like “make a left by where the German pig farm used to be”). You remember that place, Will? It was like a German pig farm?” My FIL takes a breath as if to say something, but Jerry barges right on. “I think it was a pig farm run by the Germans. Hanselschmidts? Kleinhaffners? Anyway, they’re not there anymore. All gone, fer Chrissakes. They used to all be farms back there. A lot of acres. Well, anyway, they (there is always a very anonymous and somewhat evil sounding vague ‘they’ in these stories) ripped all that down to shit. Put up real nice townhomes. You kidding me? (No, no one was, because they can’t get a damn word in edgewise) Real nice development up there now. Anyway, she’s in one of them now, real nice place.”

The whole time, there are my in-laws, taking down mental notes. You know, in case they ever have to suddenly visit Jerry’s daughter, and Jerry is not around to give them directions. I mean it was nuts how intense they looked. Maybe it was some sort of hidden conversation under the guise of directions that us young folk just don’t understand.

Otherwise, it baffles me how into directions to places they will never go seniors are into. I see it now in my own parents. If you need to fatten up a story, add a pointless 20 minutes with directions, and you have them entranced. I mean, c’mon, it’s not like most seniors are apt to hop right into the car and drive to a faraway destination. Most seniors I know barely leave the house, so it mystifies my how into directions they are. To places they will never go to.