The Walker

I'm looking outside my window at a dude who looks like he could be Cal Watkins, with whom I went out for beer once. But who doesn't look like that at that age, right? Time, the great equalizer, makes us all vaguely resemble each other, so that we at least look like the one giant brotherhood we should be, as humanity, even if we failed to learn those life lessons that would make us feel like one in fact. Aside: I read somewhere an observation that women become more like men (mustachioed, etc.) and men become more like women (high-pitched voice, etc.) as they get older. This man is not Cal because, as I see now, he is using a walker. His patient grandson walks beside him.

It makes me think of a conversation I had once with Marcus F, my long-time mentor and the kindest man in the world, though he'd be mortified to hear me say it (it's a virility thing; needless to say, I take every opportunity I get to tell him how nice he is). We were talking about the suicide frequency at Cornell, and Marcus said, "I'd rather be toothless and homeless, infested with fleas, and lying in the gutter, than dead." I think I feel the same way. Watching the old man on his walker take 10 minutes to walk about 20 feet, I started asking myself whether I'd rather be old and decrepit, or die while I'm still young and pretty...

Old and decrepit, of course! It's a privilege to get that far.