The Cranky Old Man”



By: E. P. Unum

April 5, 2024



This story has nothing at all to do with politics, religion, Critical Race Theory, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Socialists, Communists, Kings or Queens. But its message is surely important for all of us.



I received an email from a friend in Atlanta, Georgia, a nurse with over twenty-five years of experience in elderly care. She related this compelling story and poignant poem to me. and asked that I share it. The story and poem are below, unedited by me in any way:



When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the holiday editions of magazines around the world as well as several professional publications dealing with Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on this simple, but eloquent, poem.



And this old man, with nothing of material value left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet. As Eucharist Ministers for our Catholic Church, St. Marks, we often distribute Holy Communion to parishioners and sometimes to nursing and veterans’ homes. I thought you might like to reflect on this story if for no other reason than to instill in each of you a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. After all, you are because they were.



“The Cranky Old Man”



What do you see nurses? . . . . . . . What do you see?

What are you thinking . . . . . . . . when you're looking at me?

A cranky old man, . . . . . . . . . . . . not very wise.

Uncertain of habit . . . . . . . . . . . . with faraway eyes.

Who dribbles his food . . . . . . . . . and makes no reply.

When you say in a loud voice . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'

Who seems not to notice . . . . . . . the things that you do.

And forever is losing . . . . . . . . a sock or a shoe.

Who, resisting or not . . . . . . . . lets you do as you will,

With bathing and feeding . . . . . . . the long day to fill.

Is that what you're thinking? . . . . Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . . you're not looking at me.



I'll tell you who I am . . . . . . . . . as I sit here so still,

As I do at your bidding, . . . . . . . as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of Ten . . . . . . . with a father and mother.

Brothers and sisters . . . . . . . . . . . who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . . . . . with wings on his feet.

Dreaming that soon now . . . . . . . . a lover he'll meet.

A groom soon at Twenty-Seven . . . . my heart takes a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Eight, now . . . . . . . . . I have a sons of my own.

Who need me to guide . . . . . . . . and a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty-Five . . . . . . . . . my young sons have grown fast.

Bound to each other . . . . . . . . . . with ties that should last.

At Fifty, my young sons . . . . . . . have grown and are gone.

But my woman is beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.

At Sixty, once more, . . . . . . . . . . . . babies play 'round my knee.

Again, we know children . . . . . . . . my loved one and me.



Now in my 70’s I look with a smile . . . . at my family grown with pride.

But, the shadows are lengthening . . . . I pray quietly words I have known.

And think of my sons . . . . . . . . . . . . all rearing young of their own.

And I think of the years . . . . . . . . . . and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . . . . . . . . . . and nature can be so cold.

It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . . . . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . where once was a heart.

But inside this old body . . . . . . . . . . a young man still dwells,

And now and again . . . . . . . . . . . . . my battered heart swells

I remember the joys . . . . . . . . . . . . . I remember the pain.

And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . . . life over again.



I think of the years, all too few . . . . . gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact . . . . . . . . . that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people . . . . . . . open and see.

Not a cranky old man . . . . . . . . . . look closer.

See . . . . . . . . ME!!



Please remember this poem the next time you come across an older person, especially if you're likely to brush them aside. There's a lifetime of experience inside that body. In fact, the greatest lessons in life are those learned at the feet of an elderly person. Take the time to say hi! Listen carefully. You may hear a story, and be surprised at what you hear.



Remember also, growing older is a privilege denied to many. If we're lucky, we'll have a long and full life, one with stories and wisdom worth sharing. If I’ve learned anything in this life I’ve lived it is that the best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

God bless

I was sitting at Dunkin Donuts drinking coffee when a man came in with his granddaughter who was around 3 years old. She was running around unsupervised while he was ordering at the counter. At one point she was half way out the door when a woman coming in turned her around. As a grandfather myself I was horrified by this. I got up to leave as he was leaving and on the way out I commented on how cute his granddaughter was and how maybe he should keep a closer eye on her explaining how she almost made it out the door. He was visibly upset by my comment.
My question—other than possibly putting myself in harms way….
Was I right?
Or should I have kept my mouth shut?