Can I Help You?

It started about the time I turned 80.  A stranger would say "Can I help you?" and my first reaction was a silent disbelief -- "What DO you suppose I look like?"  Those were the days when I still didn’t want to be seen in public using a cane.

            Now of course my reaction is "You bet--thanks!"  By all means, help me step off the curb, load the groceries in the car, pick the cane up off the floor.

Most often, of course, it's "Can I hold that door for you?" and I always feel like saying "Listen, I can manage that, it's the least of my worries.  If you really want to be helpful, how about coming back to the house to put up the storm door?"

Yes, I WILL go to the head of the line, thank you.  Standing in line is just too painful, and besides, I'm entitled.  It's an odd feeling, but -- don't ask me exactly why --these days I'm entitled.  To everything.