Old Men

For some reason, old men make me terribly sad. Old women don’t have this same effect for some reason, but old men break my heart. I’ll get annoyed when I’m driving if someone in front of me is going slow, unless I see it’s an old man. Then I feel embarrassed I could lose my patience with someone like him, someone in his predicament.

One time I was in Tower Records after getting off a shift at Red Lobster. It was a Friday night, and it was after 10 or 11 because they used to be open late. I was in the check-out line and the guy in front of me was very old. He seemed very nice and gentle and even-tempered. He was skinny, maybe frail, with glasses and a red and blue flannel shirt tucked into his slacks. In his hands he was clutching half a dozen cassette tapes. Something about it instantly broke my heart. I could only imagine he was buying this music to relive better times when the love of his life was still around, or when his kids cared more about him than they did now. I feel a pang in my chest every time I think of it.

It also makes me sad when I can tell exactly what an old man looked like when he was younger, when I can see the years melt off of his face and person he was decades ago is revealed. I’m currently working alongside a contractor who’s a very nice older guy, and I can absolutely tell what he looked like as a kid. I see this little Irish boy with red hair and freckles running around covered in mud. Now he’s overweight and weathered by his profession, but I can see that kid in his eyes and something about that just gets to me.