Old Men

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Old Men

June 2008

Beyond the basic meat and potatoes, these two old men think that

Food Is Fluff
By Sheila Hopkins

         When I think of my dad or my father-in-law (FIL), I don’t associate them with food. They eat it, of course, or else they wouldn’t have lived to be old men. And I suppose they prefer good food to bad, though you wouldn’t know that by some of their choices.
         FIL is of the school of thought that, to be safe, meat should be cooked until the juices run clear, then cooked a while longer until there are no juices. My dad would be content with meatloaf and boloney every day, with maybe a hardboiled egg thrown in every once in awhile for variety.
         For them, food is a necessity of life. Anything beyond the basic meat and potatoes is fluff. There is no need to experiment (unless you irradiate a grapefruit, like my dad did about 40 years ago, and let it sit on the kitchen counter for months because you want to see how long it would stay fresh). For these old men, dining is neither trend nor adventure. It is simply a break in the day that allows them to socialize with family and friends. The food itself is unimportant. Food is what’s on the plate in front of you. The important part of the meal is who is in the chairs around you.

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May 2008

When you reach the age of these old dads, life is for living. You are

Past Worrying
By Sheila Hopkins

         You would think worrying about health issues would be at the top of the list for my two old dads. My 85-year-old father-in-law (Fil) had a major heart attack and, after that, several artery-clearing procedures. My 93-year-old dad had a heart attack a couple of years ago caused by arrhythmia, which appears to have been a one-time event, and he just finished surgery and radiation treatment for salivary gland cancer, which appears to be cured. Major health issues are certainly a part of their lives, as are significant out-of-pocket expenses for prescriptions and doctor appointments. But you would be wrong if you think they spend one extra moment fretting about theirs or anyone else’s health.
         When you reach my old dads’ ages, life is for living, not for worrying. What will happen will happen. They both feel lucky to have their health. Neither has the type of long-term debilitating illness that can destroy body and soul and bank accounts. Fil plays 18 holes of golf a day – unless his shoulder is acting up, then he may skip a day or two. My dad lives by himself in his own apartment, which he just renewed for two years to get a discount; “I’m an optimist,” he told the rental agent. He people-watches, surfs the Internet and works on his next book. While my husband and I count calories, cholesterol, omega 3s, trans fats and carbs, my dad has two eggs for breakfast, eats a boloney sandwich on white bread for lunch or maybe egg salad with lots of mayonnaise, and a slice of meat loaf for dinner. Forget greens. If someone is visiting, he’ll make the effort to put out an iceberg lettuce salad with Green Goddess dressing but, otherwise, bread and meat suffice. Every evening he’ll put on his blue blazer, grab his Irish walking stick and walk down to the pub in the retail building below his apartment. The bartender will have his double martini with three olives ready and waiting. No red wine for him. He knows he’s nearing the end of his more than nine-decade adventure, and he sees no reason to change his habits or give up things he enjoys in order to add a few days or hours to what has been a long-enough life.
         Health is as much a state of mind as a state of body. Someday his health will give out. When it does, he’s ready. “Dying is no big deal, I’ve done it before,” he says, referring to his heart attack. He’s outlived his wife and all his siblings. He’s accomplished everything he wanted to accomplish. He’ll be ready to go whenever it’s his time. But for now, he’s an active 93-year-old with skin and eyes better than mine, courtesy of eye-lid surgery to repair the drooping lid that removing the cancerous gland caused (and while they were tightening one eye they decided might as well do both) and seven weeks of skin-peeling radiation. When I told him my husband and I were moving to Prague for three to five years, he wished us luck and said he’d see me when we got back. I totally expect that to happen.

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I Am Sheila Hopkins
by Sheila Hopkins

I live in Prague in the Czech Republic, and I have been a professional writer for almost 40 years. I am one of the first female graduates of Notre Dame, the mother of three grown children, the wife of a man I fell in love with when I was 19, and something of a rolling stone. But with all that background, writing a column about older dads for Dad is a bit of a stretch for me. I’m obviously not an older dad. But I have two of them in my life – my own dad, whom I’ve known forever, and my father-in-law, henceforth known as Fil, who has been in my life for more than 35 years. I’m also married to a dad who is getting older by the minute.

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