I have always loved this saying taught to me by my Grand Father when I was 12 years old, “Where You Are Today, I Once Was… Where I Am Today, You, Can But Only Hope To Be”
If not for the Seniors who would have worked to put all the money into the system making the Social Security and Medicare possible as in the day nearly all real men and women worked and worked hard, not acting as if they were like those who are under the protection of a UNION!!!
My Father taught me this to remember a life time and pass it on, If you are working for a decent wage, you give your employer a decent days work. If you feel you are not being paid what you feel you are worth, you have the option in discussing it with your employer or quit your job in search of a better one. It would be wise to have a new job lined up before leaving the present job as it Is called, Self Preservation!
Our Seniors of today are the last of hard core integrity and honor amongst all people and lived by the old rules of humanity that has worked for centuries upon centuries before us.
Today so much has been neglected to be taught by parents as the majority of Liberals do not believe in hard work less you call crying and complaining really working hard!?
CRABBY OLD MAN
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in Moosomin, Saskatchewan,
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 Alberta.
The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition
of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health.
A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world,
is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet world.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you’re looking at me?
A crabby 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 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 . . . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . .. . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . .. And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . .. . With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . . . . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman’s beside me . . . .. . to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . .. My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . shudder with dread.
For my young are 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 is cruel.
‘Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy 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 crabby old man . .. . Look closer . . . see ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person
who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within.
We will all, one day, be there, too should we be so lucky!