The Old Man

For the past three days I've been in a spiral. I encountered a crotechy old man who called me a "fat bastard" after I took his plate. My job is to take used plates so that I can clean them but apparently that didn't sit well with the old man. His words cut into me and left me wounded. I think it hurt a lot more because I am overweight. I can't recall the last time I was called "fat." But more than his words, it was the surprise that struck me. I didn't have enough guards up to expect a sneaky punch like that. So I went home and called my folks who prayed for me and tried to comfort me. They were surprised that I was taking his words so seriously. It was obvious that he was an old man out of his mind. But his words bounced around in me like an echo chamber. "Fat bastard." "Fat bastard." "Fat bastard." Forward two days and we get to yesterday. I had to go back to work and that meant confronting the old man again. I had prayed for peace and even performed one of the hardest tasks a Christain can do: I forgave him. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to take a fork and ram it into his eyes. I planned all sorts of revenge plots in my head but the only one I was able to build up the courage to do was to leave the door to his room open. I had hoped that would make him think someone went into it which would upset him. Unfortunately, I picked the wrong room so my "revenge" hit the wrong person. I remember thinking that I was so pathetic that the best I could do was leave a door ajar. If I was a real man I would have body slammed that old fart into the floor. But the day came for me to confront him again and to make matters worse, I felt bad. The SAD returned with the thirty degree morning weather which set me in a bad mood. But I went to work feeling like my internal wounds had been cauterized. I felt like I had protection around me, around my heart. The day went by with no hiccups but the time came for me to take the old man's plate again. I asked one of the nurses if they could get him to leave so I could perform my tasks. She gave me a grimace directed toward the man and said that that it could set him off. Two things struck me. First, I realized I wasn't the only one who hated him. The other nurses and aids shared stories about the old man who had called them everything from "fat" to the N word. He demanded that we treat him like royalty. The second thing that hit me was that he wasn't the scary monster I had made him out to be. He was a frail old man who couldn't wipe his own butt. It's like when a kid says "I hate you in all those words I don't know yet." You don't take a "threat" like that seriously. Suddenly the monster disappeared and I almost felt some sad form of pity for the old man. He started ranting at me and the nurses who fired back angry words. It was so cathartic that I had to join them. What was I scared of for the past three days? This old man was nothing. He could no nothing to me. I took his empty plates while he wasn't looking and while he ranted about me being a thief and the nurse being a liar, my job was complete. I realized that I had made a mountain out of a mole hill. The man who's words had echoed inside of me disappeared. It's amazing how we make things bigger than they are. After he left the nurses shared stories with me about how he'd insulted them. Misery does love company and as much as these nurses give to these patients, there's a limit on human kindness. I'm surprised they haven't left him to stew in his own filth after some of the things he's said to them. And then I realized something my great aunt Mary said: you have to be dead to the flesh. His words could no longer hurt me because I was dead to him. I was immune like how someone becomes immune to a cold. Today, I go back to work with him still there. The good news is that he's falling apart so he might not be there for long. But as long as he's there I know that I can take anything he throws my way.