Shopping with Grandpa

The baby-boomers have officially grown-up, not so much motivated by ambition, but because there is no one else to be in charge. Our children are still too young to rule the world and our parents have been forced to pass on the torch as the effects of time have taken its toll. With this transition, the generation that brought disco into the world and took it out; invented hip-hugging bell bottoms that our children have re-invented under the guise of low-rise jeans with wide legs; and can legally call the Rolling Stones, Elton John, and Rod Stewart our own, has been renamed the sandwich generation. We’re the filling between our parents and our children.
Now, we’re in charge. Scary, isn’t it?
Imagine giving up your independence to move in with someone whose diapers you used to change, someone who you had to bail out after they learned the hard way that the down side of credit cards is that eventually you have to pay up.
For a man who was once the king of the house, relinquishing independence is a losing fight in the war against aging. Simple things that once were taken for granted can become battle grounds. Each battle lost brings eventual surrender.
One such battle in the war for independence is the car. We baby-boomers can easily recall the days when we counted down to receiving our drivers’ licenses. Getting our first car was a symbol of freedom.
The status symbol of the car and the independence that comes with driving does not diminish with age.
Six years ago, my wheel-chair bound eighty-one year old father-in-law moved in with my family. The transition of moving from his home in Arizona to our West Virginia home provided the opportunity to get Grandpa off the road. With hardly any feeling in his legs, he would crawl behind the wheel of his New Yorker, speed up to 50 mph, set the cruise control, and go. Of course, with no feeling in his legs, there was a delay in lifting his leg with his hand and placing his foot on the brake if he had to stop. My sister-in-law saw her life flash before her eyes two times before he came to a halt when a deer jumped in front of them.
Rather than sell his New Yorker, Grandpa put it in storage when he moved in with us. He felt secure just owning a car, even though it was halfway across the country. “I feel trapped being here without a car. Granted, I can’t drive, but I still feel trapped.”
So, Grandpa sought independence where he could find it.
Shortly after he had moved in, I packed Grandpa up in the SUV and took him to the grocery store. He had only twelve items on his list, but wanted to get them himself. After loading him into the handicapped scooter at the grocery store, I went to the pharmacy next door for a quick errand and returned to the grocery store, where I ran into a friend. While chatting in the wine aisle, I glanced up and down the aisles for Grandpa. Since he was unfamiliar with the store, I feared that he would become confused if I took too long to find him.
Behind Ed’s back, I saw Grandpa whiz by on his scooter at a high rate of speed. He didn’t appear to see me. Minutes later, I saw him speed by again. Assuming he was looking for me, I tried to end the conversation. Before I could, Grandpa raced by again. This time, he was in reverse!
Hurriedly, I ended our conversation and ran off with my cart to find Grandpa.
Oh, I thought, he must be confused and wondering where I am. Finally, I spotted him racing along on his scooter at what appeared to be top speed.
“Grandpa!” I ran after him with my grocery cart.
He didn’t slow down.
I gave chase.
Grandpa turned a corner and kept on going.
Running after him, I noticed that he didn’t appear to be looking for anything on the shelves while speeding along, nor did he appear to be searching for me. People were dodging out of his way while he charged full speed ahead and hugged the corners to speed up the next aisle.
Three aisles later, I finally caught him. “Grandpa! Are you looking for something?”
A look of disappointment crossed his face when he saw me.
Noticing that he only had two items in his basket, I could see that he had not been shopping while he was in the store alone.
His expression was similar to that of my young son when I stopped him from sled riding down the fastest hill on our mountain, which happened to be major road used by cars.
I had ruined his fun. Such is my lot in life being the filling in our familial sandwich.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
He dug his grocery list out of his pocket and studied it a moment. “Butter.” I led him to the refrigerated section.
For a moment, while Grandpa was racing up and down the grocery aisles on his scooter, this man who used to fly patrol plans over the Atlantic during World War II was once again in the driver’s seat. With the wind in his hair, he was king of the road at our local grocery store!
I’m just glad the grocery store manager didn’t give him a speeding ticket.
(Posted in Memory of Grandpa John A. Zaleski.)