The Cane Caper

Agatha bemoans the way old people are treated. Then she performs an act of bravery.

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Agatha had just celebrated her 85th birthday, and she was unhappy, as she told her friend Veronica, who at 75 was a lot younger.

They were sitting in Agatha's sunroom. Fortunately, the sun was shining during that first week in May.

"Ronnie, it seems that wherever I go and whatever I do, people are either awed by the fact that I can do anything or they are condescending. Actually, when they are awed they are also being condescending, if you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do know what you mean, Aggie. I haven't found that people act in any special way to me."

"That's because you're only 75. Ha!"

"So what do people do?"

"Look, I'm still driving. And I can walk pretty fast. But this is a small town, and people know me. They're always trying to help me in the store. That's one thing. Then when I go to the bridge club on Tuesday evening, someone always wants to get me a glass of water or a cookie, and if I do well in a hand, I hear, "Awww. You're such a good player!" Or something like that. When did people start saying "Awww" when they think something cute has happened. Don't they do the same to children? People are surprised that kids can do anything. So they do the same to us old people."

"I think they usually say 'older' now, Aggie, not old."

"Older than what? Older than dirt? I'm tired of all of this. I'm tired of the condescension, and I'm really tired of political correctness. When does a person become old anyway? If I'm not old at the age of 85, then when am I going to be old? At 90? I could be dead by then."

"Oh, don't say that."'

"Well, it's something we have to deal with. Listen Ronnie, I wonder if I can stop people from being condescending. Must think about it."

She ended up not thinking about it too much. Instead, she played the piano, surfed the internet, did some reading, talked to her plants while she watered them, and engaged in some knitting.

The next day Agatha needed to go to the bank. A dividend check had arrived in the mail. She thought about what to do. Must get that into direct deposit somehow. I could deposit this check with my cell phone, but I don't really know how to do that, and it doesn't seem safe somehow. It's also good to get out of the house. Must stop talking to myself.

Agatha drove to the bank, parked her car, grabbed her purse and her cane. She didn't much like using a cane, but she needed something, and she thought a walker would make her look more feeble. The cane had belonged to her father, and that made it special. It was solid and strong and old-fashioned, just like her father, who lived to be 98.

There was a short line at the bank, and only one teller was working, probably because it was lunchtime. The young man in front of her seemed fidgety. She almost felt like telling him to calm down, but she refrained as she looked at her cane and remembered dear old Dad.

Then it was the young man's turn. No one was behind her waiting in line. Was that a gun the man was pointing at the teller? Not here in the quaint town of Ashleyville, Ohio. Couldn't be. But it was.

Suddenly, as if inspired by her father, a World War II veteran, Agatha quickly approached and poked the thief in the back really, really hard. He swung around, and the gun went off, the shot hitting the ceiling. Plaster started to fall. While the gunman looked at the ceiling, she poked him again with her cane, this time a good hard poke at his hand. The gun fell down.

By this time the bank manager, Matilda Hornsby, had returned from lunch. She ran for the gun and called to the teller, Victoria Jordan. "Call 911, Vicki. Right away."

Victoria Jordan emerged from where she was hiding under the counter. "Yes. Yes. Of course."

The Ashleyville Gazette ran the story the next day. Agatha hated the headline: "85-Year-Old Grandmother Foils Bank Robber." She would have preferred no mention of her age, and she might have preferred a reference to her father. At least he was mentioned in the story: "Ms. Heinlein credits her bravery to the example of her father, who fought in World War II and survived the Battle of the Bulge. It was her father's cane that she used to disarm the bank robber."

So there were some benefits to old age, she thought while having a nice cup of tea later at home. Without my arthritis, I would not have been using the cane. Without the cane, well, who knows what would have happened?

By Anita G. Gorman

From: United States

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