Why it’s vital that we remember our elders
Husband-and-wife comedians and commentators Jeremy Elwood and Michele A'Court give their views.
Michelle A’Court
This week I will take my father's winter jackets and jerseys to the City Mission. My mother has lovingly washed and folded them. That's what she did for Dad for 62 years and she has taken great care with doing it for the last time.
She has given me strict instructions to pass on to the good people at the Mission. These clothes are not to be sold. She wants no price tags pinned to his jumpers and coats. They are to be given, she says, to men sleeping rough, who could do with some layers between them and winter. It matters to her that men who have lived a very different life from my father can wear something that has been cared for.
If you can find ways to be warm, there are things to love about winter. Like the oranges and camellias throwing their colour around on Route 27 between home and Rotorua last weekend. This is my favourite road, and the car is warm, and it's the day after my birthday, and I'm not at all bothered about being a year older. If I'm sad about anything it's that for the first time in I don't know how many years, there's no card with Dad's handwriting in it. He didn't ever write much, but he insisted on being the one to do it. "Love, Mother & Father". He would have liked the drive.
Sometimes in my car I listen to music, other times I'm tuned to the news. In one bulletin, there is five million dollars from our government to kick-start the next America's Cup campaign. In another, the Aged Care Association says rest homes need an injection of $10 million to stay afloat. The women at the heart of the industry deserve their newly won pay equity, a spokesperson says, but employers are struggling to cover the increase. As little from the government as $100,000 each to help rest homes transition would make all the difference. My father didn't make it to a rest home but I think of how much care he needed at the end, and worry again about the men who have lived a different life.
More numbers in other bulletins - $26 million earned from food, beverage and accommodation for the Lions' tour, a welcome boost for local businesses. Some people are having a grand winter.
The other story about the rugby was the apparent ignominy of a drawn final match, and therefore a drawn test series. Much chatter about the French ref, and some dissection of the rules. Disappointment and a sense that "not winning" is the same as "losing".
And all I can think is that, really, coming equal would be a terrific thing.
Jeremy Elwood
My first hospitality job was as a bartender in Dunedin. The neighbourhood the bar was in was home to a couple of hotels, band rehearsal spaces and three halfway houses. This was in the mid 1990s, the period in which the government was moving mental health treatment out of the old institutions, and towards a more community based approach, with wildly varying degrees of success. So as you can imagine, our clientele was equally varied.
One regular was a man in his late 60s or early 70s, quite well dressed in a shabby chic, hand me down kind of way. He always came in mid-afternoon, carrying a briefcase. He would order a beer, sit down, and open that case to reveal it was completely filled with ballpoint pens, which he would meticulously, and silently, begin to count while he drank.
He was harmless – most of the time. We quickly worked out, however, that he had a two-beer limit. As soon as a third went down, his personality would change in Jekyll and Hyde-like fashion. He would become abusive, start throwing things, and even try and reach over the bar to grab bottles. Needless to say, this only happened twice – once when I was working, and once when someone new, and unfamiliar with the situation, was on.
We didn't ban him from the premises. It was painfully clear to all of the staff that his two beers were a weekly indulgence, and quite simply he had nowhere else to go. He was one of those faceless, forgotten men who have fallen off the radar of all but the carers, doctors and, so often, bartenders who come into contact with them. Or that's what I assumed.
One day, however, he came in wearing a badge that read "World's Best Dad."
It was Father's Day.
The emotional punch floored me. To realise that this man, with his pens and his two drink maximum, was part of a family. Loved, remembered, and acknowledged.
As are all the elderly men you see, or don't see, as they drift around the edges of our society. In a culture which idolises youth, it is vital that we remember the aged. The thing about youth is you grow out of it. Most of us will get old, and many of us won't have the benefits of financial security and good health as we do. Some will have family to support them, but many more will not, and as they age they will fade from the public consciousness like a decaying photograph, unless we all prevent that.
So to those who are working so tirelessly, and too often thanklessly, to keep these men warm, safe and remembered, thank you.
Written by Jeremy Elwood and Michelle A’Court. First appeared on Stuff.co.nz.