May I speak frankly?
We have a elderly out-of-town friend who comes to visit two weekends a year. He can barely walk, he has a constant wet cough, and lately he’s taken up belching (we think he has an esophageal obstruction of some kind). We’ve had to take him to the emergency room more than once. Lately he smells of pee, probably because he’s catheterized (we aren’t sure, and he won’t talk about it). He’s nearly deaf, so when he speaks he shouts, and when he watches TV he cranks it up to the point where we (half deaf ourselves) have to leave the room.
Beyond his health, he’s a handful in other, perhaps less forgivable ways. He makes a mess in the guest bathroom and never cleans up. He doesn’t listen to what we and others are saying; he’s too busy planning what he’s going to say next, which rarely has anything to do with what the rest of us are talking about. He doesn’t shower when he’s here, slathering himself with cologne instead (his presence lingers after he’s gone). Over the years he’s broken with several friends and family members, turning his back on them and acting as if they’d never existed. Inexplicably, he hasn’t turned on us.
He’s an old friend and we make allowances. Who knows what we’ll be like ten years from now? If we abandon old friends when they no longer please us, what might our younger friends do to us some day?
It hit us during his most recent visit that we’ve known this man since the early 1990s, when he was in his 50s. Comparing recollections in a private moment, we realized he was the same way then, minus the belching, odors, and mobility problems. We’ve been making allowances for him all along.
Should I admit we both sort of hope he’ll turn his back on us some day, as he’s done to others? Should I admit we’re already planning excuses to fend off his next visit?
Well, at least he hasn’t turned teabagger on us. He’s an old pinko, and we old pinkos have to stick together.