Robert Weinstein - Lessons from the Perry Como Sundae Bar 

 

In 1998, I went to visit my grandma Rose in an old folks home in West Bloomfield, Michigan. At the time, she was 90 and I was 28. And I was about to go off for two years of grad school. This was the last time I ever saw her. Now, she'd been living there for about 15 years, and I'd been to visit her a lot. But lately, at that time, it was becoming a little bit sadder. One reason was because the place was full of people who were sort of grasping at the last stages of their lucidity, but even more-- and that might sound like a horrible thing to say, and I kind of felt bad for thinking it. But the other reason was that it was taking her longer and longer to recognize me, and I didn't know how to handle that.

 

But when I saw her on this day, she was really excited because in the common room they had a sundae bar/Perry Como music hour. [audience chuckle] And I'm not a big fan of Perry Como, and I'm not a big fan of ice cream, but I'm a really big fan of Rose. So, I was like, "Let's go." And when we got there, it didn't make my discomfort any better. First of all, the Perry Como was coming from a boombox [audience chuckle] that was at one end of the room, and there was this great big chasm. And at the other end, all these people were seated and they were just staring at it.

 

And my grandmother and I rolled over there and she introduced me to everyone, saying, "This is my grandson and he's going to Paris." And they responded, "How nice to meet you” and “How handsome you are” and “That's very nice." And then when everything was said and done, we just kind of settled, and I became one of them. And we just stared at that boombox. And this silence was broken, though, by this woman in a wheelchair who was sitting next to me, who asked me if I'd ever heard of Perry Como before. And I told her I had, and she told me how much she loved him. Then she told me this story about during the war, her husband and all the men in her town were all fighting. And they really missed the men, but what they really missed was dancing. And they missed it so much that they would rent out a gymnasium once a month and get a record player, and they would play songs and her favorite was Perry Como. And she went off into her head for a little while, and she looked like she was really enjoying herself. And finally, she said, "I really miss dancing." And I said-- I was really tired of feeling uncomfortable and I didn't know what else to say, so I said, "Do you want to dance?"

 

And she said “Yes.” So, I wheeled her out into the middle of the Grand Canyon that was separating the people from the boombox. And I lifted her arm up and twirled under it, and I twirled her wheelchair around. And we laughed a lot and we smiled a lot. And when it was over, I thanked her, [softly chuckles] wheeled her back. And I noticed a lot of little old ladies smiling at me. [audience laughter] So, I asked another one to dance and she asked someone else to dance. And we danced again. And then we split off. And pretty soon we had snowballed into this great big geriatric cotillion. [audience laughter] And it was really-- it was quite something.

 

And while I was dancing, I remembered this thing that my grandma-- I remember my grandmother's 75th birthday. And we were at this restaurant called the Pickle Barrel. And we were eating pickles out of this small barrel on a table. [audience laughter] And I asked her what it was like to be 75 years old. And she said without even thinking, she said, "It feels like it always does." She says, "My mind still feels very young, 18, but my body just won't do the things I want it to do anymore." Then she told me this theory that she had where people locked in to a certain age and they stayed that way for the rest of their lives. And it was kind of amazing.

 

So, back at the dance, I saw my grandmother across the room and of course, I danced with her. And it was really great. I mean, when you're watching someone decline, it's really easy to get caught up in the deterioration and forget how much you love that person. And it was at this moment that I realized why that place made me feel so uncomfortable. It was good old complicated fear. It was a bunch of fears, actually. It was fear of watching her grow older and my powerlessness to do anything about it. And also, the thought of losing her and my powerlessness to do anything about that.

 

And then I realized, watching everyone, that if I felt that way, I couldn't even imagine what these guys felt like. And so, the ice cream came and some people stayed dancing and some people made a beeline for the cart. And everybody was eating and dancing and they looked like the ages that I presumed they felt. And they lit that room like chandeliers. And I stayed dancing with my grandmother. And I realized over time how rare it is that you get to see someone as they see yourself, as they see themselves. And there I was with this 18-year-old woman who was dancing with someone she loved, who loved her back. And I felt very, very lucky. Thank you.