I took my 92-year-old dad to the mall to buy new shoes. Afterward, we grabbed lunch in the food court. While we were eating, I noticed Dad staring at a teenager at the next table.
The kid had spiked hair in every color—green, red, orange, blue. Wild, loud, impossible to miss. Every time the teen glanced over, Dad was still looking. Eventually, the kid snapped:
“What’s the matter, old man? Never done anything wild in your life?”
I nearly stopped breathing. I knew my dad. He always had a response locked and loaded.
Without blinking, he leaned forward and said calmly:
“As a matter of fact, I once got drunk and did something wild. I kissed a parrot. I’m just wondering if you’re my son.”
The food court went silent.
Then someone burst out laughing. Then another. The teenager’s face turned the same shade as his red spikes. He grabbed his tray and bolted.
My dad didn’t even crack a smile. He just went back to his sandwich like nothing happened.
At 92, he doesn’t move fast. He doesn’t hear well. He doesn’t always remember what day it is.
But that day, he reminded everyone of one thing:
Age might slow the body…
…but it doesn’t dull the wit.
