Evidenced Based Kindness

My Dad is saying a long goodbye, unaware he is being consumed by dementia. As a result, my brothers and I have tried to match his decline with increasing care. So far (so far) the plan has gone pretty well.

Getting the car keys from him had a couple of starts and stops. Failed reasoning, failed conversations. One day, I just said, “Hey can I see your keys for a minute?” And then I just left. But he had been lost for about 8 hours the day before, and when I found him he was a mess.

So the man that taught us how to drive can’t drive anymore. The man who taught us how to bathe seems allergic to the shower. I’ve since read that hygiene is less of a neurological need and more of a societal norm. It’s pretty common for folks suffering from dementia to forego their usual cleaning routines.

The man who taught us how to cook and bake bread can’t be trusted around a stove. And since he’s not driving, that means we need to take his groceries and make sure he’s fed. He’s not burning a lot of calories these days, so he likes to eat one meal a day, and then goes wild on some ice cream. I bring him three tubs a week of ice cream, and he says the same damn thing every week: “That’s a lot of ice cream! It’ll take me months to go through that!” Gone in a week.

That one meal a day? Dad loves Chick-fil-A. So six days a week my brother, Phil, orders his dinner on the app and it gets delivered. He never wants anything different. But those folks are closed on Sunday, so Dad settles for a Wendy’s Chicken sandwich on those days.

It’s such a strange role reversal for me, caring for the man that shaped me like clay. Setting limits for him make me literally shake from discomfort.

I learned everything from him. Our personalities are a little different. Our aptitude is definitely different. But our temperaments are the same. We share some flaws as well. He’s not perfect, not by a long shot. But I have, long ago, forgiven him for the mistakes he’s acknowledged and the ones he’s unaware of. Which is a gift for both of us. A gift I haven’t always been afforded, which only adds to the value of my relationship with him. No resentment. Nothing left unsaid. No rocks in my backpack. It feels light to not carry around the past.

There’s one lesson he taught me, more by example than by decree, that I hold more dear than all the others. In fact, I don’t think he ever put his best lesson in words. But it was imprinted by his repeated behavior, as consistent as his aftershave and his complaints about the cost of bacon.

I’ve put a phrase to it: “Be kind until you can’t. And when you can’t be quick about it.”

My Dad learned that lesson from his Dad. I’m not sure where my pawpaw learned it.

My Dad was a gentle, kind father and husband. He was a kind neighbor and employee. He was a kind Deacon in his church. He was kind until he wasn’t, but when he wasn’t, it was quick. He was always eager to get back to kind. You could make a case that “tolerant” is a good synonym here.

Because of him, I’ve been a fan of kindness for most of my life. I should note that I never learned to be kind to myself from either of my parents. That is still a new and emerging skill.

And so every Sunday, since March 3 this year (the key snatch day), I have gone through Wendy’s drive thru to get his dinner. The same lady has waited on me every time I have been there.

She’s a bigger woman. Maybe north of 60 years old? Looks a little like Aretha Franklin when she was in Blues Brothers. You can tell by looking at her hands and her face that life hasn’t worked out the way she would have liked. The tattoos on her forearms were more likely done in a living room. She looked like she was always waiting for trouble. Probably a learned trait.

I don’t know who hurt her, except I know she has been hurt. I don’t know if her husband left, or worse yet, if he’s still around. I don’t know if she is raising grandkids. But she looks like she fell out of the happy tree and hit every branch on the way down. “Weathered” might be a good description. And boy, does she have the disposition to match!

March 5: I pull up to the window after she barked for me to pull around. She was frowning when I pulled up. She growled the total for me. She grabbed the card from my hand. She practically threw the food at me. She almost ninja starred my card back at me. And so I looked at her, smiled, and said, “So how’s your day going?” She stopped dead in her tracks and glared at me. I could see her form a paragraph so vile and so odious that I have listed the fact that she didn’t say it on more than a few gratitude lists since then. She just stared, knowing that if she opened her mouth she wouldn’t be able to stop. And she would lose her job. I waited longer than was socially acceptable, then I just drove off, leaving her a statue in the drive thru. Only her eyes moved as I drove away.

I thought about going to a different Wendy’s, but this one is so close to Dad’s house! So I went back the next week. Same lady. Same disposition. It was like she was a vegan, but forced to sell animal meat. I just knew there was a tag under her uniform that had been causing her to itch for her shifts. Her shorts were definitely too tight.

I didn’t ask a question that day. I waiting until my window was rolling up and my car was in gear. I looked over my left shoulder and assaulted her with, “I hope you have a great day!” I wasn’t mocking her, I meant what I said. But I was using kindness as a blunt force object. Because I believe in that. Because I was taught that.

This went on throughout March and April and May. No change, except for the time I tried having a little fun with her at the speakers. She said, tersely, “Hold on for your total!” Well, I knew the total by now. So I said, “What do I win if it’s $9.31?” Silence.

Another thing (flaw) I learned from Dad: I never know when to quit.

June. July. August. I pulled up to that window each Sunday happier than when Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny fucking Kaye (to borrow a phrase).

I felt defeated in September. Well, more tired than defeated. I think she could tell. It was a feeling I think she knew all too well.

Then came October. She got some green highlights in her hair. When she handed me the food I said, “Hey! I really like your highlights! It suits you!” That’s when I got my first reply that wasn’t dripping with assault. She said, “So says you and the lesbians.” She said it with a flat voice with no emotion on her face. But that was progress!

“Good company,” I thought. Gave her a thumbs up and drove off. A win is a win.

I took it easy on the kindness the next week. I guess I just wanted to bask in the latest victory.

And the week after that; today, in fact, when she handed me my food, she smiled at me. Smiled! And she said, “Here’s your food, sweetie!”

I was stunned! Shocked mute. I took the bag and gave her a big goofy smile and said back to her, “Sweetie??” She turned her smile into a frown and said in a mildly aggressive tone, “Don’t push it!”

And I drove off. A Super Bowl champion! The Grinch’s heart grew three sizes! Kindness delivered, consistently over time, will change anybody. I have the evidence for that.

Ironic that I had this encounter picking up food for the man who taught me how to have that encounter.

Be kind until you can’t. And when you can’t be quick about it.