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by Sally Armour Wotton  The old woman moved her way slowly down the driveway, pushing the garbage bin with one hand and pulling her walker with the other. She was about halfway down and thinking, pretty good, I’m doing alright. She got to the end of the driveway and reminded herself not to let go of the walker so that it wouldn't run into the middle of the road like it did the last time and she had to wait forever for someone to come along and retrieve it. She said to herself I think this is the main sidewalk, I will just move this recycling bin to the curb. She tested with her foot and thought, yes, it's in place. She felt good about this and then felt silly because all she had done was take the garbage bin from the side of the house to the curb, but she was looking after herself with her household chores and it made her feel rather proud. A man walking down the street came right up to her and said, “can I help you?”. She thought this was a bit funny as she had just completed the task, so with her usual sarcastic humor, she said, “with what?”, and he, assuming that since she obviously had some disability she must have them all, spoke more loudly and said, “can I help you?”. Well, she thought, he didn't get my sarcastic humor. I'll just try one more time. “With what?”, she replied. To which he said, “all you had to say was no!”, and he stomped away up the street. This was so deflating she no longer felt proud of her task, in fact, she was quite annoyed as she realized this man is an obvious ageist.
She went into her house and put on the kettle and thought what is wrong with people? They repeatedly ask can I help you when I have done something perfectly well. Apart from their grammatical error, asking can I help you, I find it so frustrating. He must be a neighbor; probably lives quite near by. The woman thought to herself I used to be somebody. I used to be respected even admired. Just a couple of years ago I was teaching part time at the university, people called me Professor. I had a student who phoned me for advice and took notes. I was somebody important, now I don't know who I am. Apparently, I am just an old woman. Listen to me feeling sorry for myself, that’s ridiculous. I still come up with creative ideas, do my own cooking, laundry and I can take the garbage down to the curb, thank you very much! I’m a widow but we produced the most wonderful child, now grown, that I could ever wish for. As the water comes to a boil she heats the pot and thinks, I wonder if I will have the opportunity to apologize to that man. He'll probably be walking on the other side of the street from now on. Meanwhile five doors up the street the man, still fuming, went into his house and filled the kettle. He thought what's wrong with that old lady? I was just trying to help. That's all I ever do these days is try to help, but I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know who I am, as a man or as a person. Particularly women are forever objecting to whatever I say or do. It doesn't seem like I can do anything right. I thought I was going to get that promotion, silly me, obviously as my boss is a woman she hired another one and that's it for me, I guess. At least I’m still working. And my wife! I absolutely can't put a foot right with her. No matter what I say or do she looks like I've gravely insulted her. I’m supposed to ask her about her work, I suppose, but what do I know about interior decorating. The biggest problem is our daughter, Samantha, I used to be her knight in shining armor. We had such a marvelous relationship and now, just lately, she’s turned like all the rest. Just yesterday I said, “why don't we go out for some ice cream?”. She looked at me like I'd spat on her. She said, “do you think I’m six years old?, I have plans with my friends, dad, I have no interest in going for ice cream or gaining an extra ten pounds”. I often ask myself who am I? I just can't answer the question. I can’t even be helpful to an old disabled women. One thing is for sure, from now on I am going to be walking on the other side of the street. He poured a bit of milk into his favorite mug, ready for the kettle to boil. The old woman pondered, at over 80 years old, maybe it’s time for me to think of other people first for a change. I didn’t even wonder what story that man was walking out of as he walked into mine. Perhaps when the next stranger who says to me, can I help you?, I could resist thinking of him as an ageist and imagine his story for a change. I have learned by now that sarcasm doesn’t sway agists, disablists or any other ists. As she poured the hot liquid into her mug she thought something to mull over as a sip my tea. As the man poured the boiling water into the pot he thought, my elderly neighbour obviously has enough to cope with without my offering help she hasn’t asked for. And I bet Samanatha is going through teenage angst. If I apply a little imagination I might come up with something to say or do that will make me her hero again; something to think about as I drink my tea.
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