My oldest friend is a delightful chap by the name of Milan. Some people call him Doobie. I never found out why. It doesn't matter. To me, he will always be Milan. Even though I've only known Milan a tad over ten years, he is still my oldest friend. You see, my good friend Milan, was 100 yesterday. He called to remind me.
Sharp as a tack and possessed of a wit that is fresh and ageless, Milan decided that he would start watching over me. After my numerous encounters with medical issues that my many doctors couldn't handle. I found myself somewhat home-bound. It's not as bad as it sounds, mainly because Georgie, my wife takes very good care of me. But, my situation is such that I don't do very well driving and I am not very mobile. Georgie is much better at it. Besides, that walking thing that comes natural to most folks doesn't work too well for me.
Milan decided a couple years ago - when he was 98 that he would visit with me on occasion to buoy up my spirits. As long as he was stopping by, he felt he should bring with him some nourishment to help sustain me.
Until fairly recently, I could usually expect to get a call from my driveway where his big Buick Electra had pulled into. It was Milan making certain I was home before he made the strenuous effort to take his walker out of the trunk then shuffle up the drive, up the steps to my front door. His legs are weak and his body aching, but, with considerable effort, he makes it up the steps, rings my bell and when I open the door, he hands me a loaf of bread. This was pretty much a weekly happening.
It seems that Friday is bridge day at the Senior Center and Milan is the undisputed master. Over the course of the year, he had accumulated over $300 in winnings at a penny a point. As I had mentioned, his mind is sharp as a tack, consequently, he is able to separate many a man from his money.
Getting back to the bread. It seems that one of the well known bakeries around town brings day old bread to the Center for the benefit of the old folks who gather there. Milan feels entitled, so every week he takes home a loaf for himself and every other oldster he knows. He actually made a list of all his old friends, myself included and developed a route which he follows meticulously every week. I was always the last stop so that he and I could chat for a time. And chat we would. He loves the exchange filled with stories, often repeated and repeated and, well you get the drift. Somehow, I enjoyed the experience that was dotted with Milan's dry humor, old lines, corny jokes and just plain fun.
There are things about the man that are unique and just plain fun. Milan is a dapper old gentleman. He stands all of 5 foot tall in heels. He has a full head of hair that guys half his age would die for. Every day of the week he wears one of his two or three what might be described as "vintage" sport coats, dress pants with a collared shirt and bow tie. The sleeves are a bit frayed and ingrained with layers of ground in wear marks, representing decades of daily wear and meals, all of which added character.
He can barely reach the pedals on his cavernous full size auto. When he backs out of the drive, neighbors run for shelter and grown men shudder. Mailboxes and trash cans are in great danger as he roars confidently out of the sub, then turns into the traffic on the main arteries without fear or hesitation. He is what some might say, somewhat aggressive behind the wheel.
Anyone driving in back of him, if they could keep up, could not see any sign of a human being behind the wheel. The car looked as if the headless horseman was at the wheel. Milan never brakes for squirrels, but if he sees a golf ball fly across the front of his windshield, he will slam on the brakes, pull to the side of the road and retrieve the golf ball. He was not a golfer, but he likes the hunt.
A few of his friends are sure he shouldn't be on the road. When they hint at that, Milan gets defensive about his driving skills. Who could argue. One afternoon while parked at a local senior center, Milan parked in a handicap spot. For some reason, he left his parking permit at home. Impossibly, his vehicle was ticketed for parking in that spot. Later that day, while delivering bread to me, he sheepishly admitted that he was ticketed and was facing a fine of $250. AS much as hated to admit it, he said - he was guilty and deserved to pay the fine.
After he left, I called over to the police post. I actually got the officer who had written the ticket earlier in the day. I told him about Milan, his age and so forth. A week or so later when Milan showed up to pay his fine and face the consequences, the charges were dismissed. It made his day.
Almost forgot to mention ... Milan has a wife, to whom he has been married for over 75 years. Mary resides in a center for Alzheimer patients. She often doesn't recognize her devoted husband, but Milan visits her regularly at least twice every week. He knows they will never share their home, but one day they might live together again in her facility.
His car was totaled when as he sees it, a car backed into him at 45 miles per hour. He spent a month in the hospital healing his broken bones. The first day out he had his driver stop at his mechanic's shop. Milan wants him to locate a good used car, something big and heavy like the 15 year old Buick he loved so much. He's thinking about bustings Mary out of the joint so the two of them can head out to Florida where they spent many a winter before Mary developed her mental issues. It won't surprise me one bit if he pulls it off.
No comments:
Post a Comment