I Am the Old Man at the Record Player

TRIGGER WARNING: This blog contains ageism.

I was 40ish, he was 90ish, and for the life of me I could not understand what the old man was doing.

It was not totally out of the ordinary for men to do strange things at the nursing home where I was chaplain. One man got out on the roof from the second floor, threatening to jump to his freedom. A nurse crawled out, at great risk to herself, and talked him back in. Another wanted to marry a female resident, much to the consternation of both families. There was no wedding, but the romance continued.

What’s the point?

So, the 90ish-year-old man who gave me pause was quite innocent compared to all this. His wife of over 60 years said he was somewhat boring. She was 19 when they married, he 29. They had one son. It was during the Depression, and he had a good job. He was a schoolteacher all his working life. She confided to me as we planned his funeral, “I don’t think I ever loved him.” I found that so sad.

Photo by Jace & Afsoon on Unsplash

When I would pass the old man’s room he was often bent over a record player, listening to books on vinyl from The Library of Congress, which sends these to the blind and infirmed. I remember he liked listening to history books.

“Why?” I asked myself. “What’s the point?” (Yes, horrible ageist thoughts.) His productive working life had long since passed. He was not part of a book club. He would be dead in months or, at most, the next two years. Why was he doing this?

The future of books on vinyl

Fast forward to me at 70ish – 77, to be exact. I started listening to books on Audible or those I can download for free from our public library. A couple times a year I visit my kids and grands in D.C. All that driving time has help me “read” twelve books already this year.

Some of these books are professionally oriented to my work, like Death Is But a Dream, by Dr. Christopher Kerr and @hospicenursepenny’s Influencing Death (I actually read the paperback version so I could write this book review). I suppose there is still a purpose for some of my reading.

Most of my reading falls in the pleasure category, which includes some of my favorite authors: Recollections of My Non-Existence by Rebecca Solnit and Unsolaced: Along the Way to All That Is by Gretel Ehrlich. Then some “freebies” from the library: My Southern Journey: True Stories from the Heart of the South by Rick Bragg and a classic, Travels with Charley: In Search of America by John Steinback.

So, what is the difference between me and the old man? I am able-bodied, he was not. I can tell others about what I am reading, he kept it inside because no one seemed to care. But now I can see we’re more similar than 40ish-year-old me would like to admit.

Decades later, that old man is showing me things that are so fascinating about our human existence. We don’t need a purpose or reason to seek intellectual stimulation. For better or worse, nowadays we often to turn to social media or television to satisfy this hunger. He turned to books.