Sure Pop Last week I paid a visit to the VA Hospital to visit a friend of mine. Like most of us, I visit hospitals with a certain amount of trepidation. After all, the joints are full of sick people. I brought the requested supply of magazines, toiletry items and contraband snack foods and sat down to chat with my buddy for awhile. There were four beds in the room, my friend’s bed was by the window. Only two of them were occupied. The other held an elderly veteran who appeared to be well into his eighties. His condition obviously was not good. He lay flat on his back. His eyes were open but did not seem to focus on anything in particular. A man I took to be his son stood over him speaking in hushed tones—words that I could not hear. I thought I heard the old man grunt the occasional grudging response, but couldn’t be sure. It sounded as if some sort of arrangements were being discussed. As my own visit began to wind down, a nurse arrived with a wheelchair and the elderly man was tilted up on the edge of his bed. She began putting his slippers on his feet while the man’s son—a fellow about my age, slipped a blue terrycloth robe over his dad’s shoulders. From the conversation I gathered that “Pop” was going to get to go home for a family meal. In all honesty, looking at Pop’s vacuous stare, the outing seemed something of an empty gesture. Pop didn’t appear to know where he was. He seemed irritated that he was being unhinged from his comfortable bed and I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the old man. Perhaps it would be best to just let him be. I said goodby to my friend and turned to leave only to find Pop’s wheelchair being pushed through the door just ahead of me. I followed the pair down the shiny hallway. The oncoming traffic kept me in tandem behind them as we approached the elevator. Once inside, Pop looked even more dejected and uncomfortable, if possible. The bright light inside the elevator seemed to irritate him. He pushed a pinched and crippled hand up over his eyes, making a pathetic shield against the light. His chin sunk into his chest. I considered suggesting to the son that he take his Dad back where he would be comfortable. I fought the urge. Soon I would be glad that I had. The elevator doors opened and an even greater wave of sunlight burst over Pop from the huge glass doors on the opposite side of the lobby. They open onto the covered portico under which one passes on the way to the parking lot. The closer we got to the light the deeper into his chest Pop’s chin became imbedded—this seemed like an act of cruelty. The son seemed to take no notice of his father’s reaction. If anything his pace picked up a bit as he wheeled him ever closer to the blinding sunlight. Reaching the end of the canopy the “boy” pulled up abruptly. With that he shook the chair by the handles. The old man started irritably and craned his neck back over his shoulder. “Wha?” Was all that escaped his chapped lips. “Pop” The boy began again. “You’re gonna have to help me. I’ve done it again. I forgot where I parked the car...can you help me?” A “damn” escaped the old man’s lips as he squinted up into the noonday sun. And that was when it happened. One of the most miraculous transformations I have ever had the priviledge to witness. Suddenly, the pasty face of a dying old man was replaced with that of an old desert rat—scanning the horizon for sign of a suitable campsite or huntable game. A set came to his jaw. His leather eyelids narrowed sharply against the sun. “Well what’d ya do with it!?” The old man demanded to know. “I don’t know Pop. I need your help. Can you help me?” “Well for Chrissake!” The old man said irritably. He raised an arm bowed with arthritis and aimed it at the parking lot in general. “Ya leave it out there? Other side of those trucks?” Pop wanted to know. “I don’t know Pop. I could’ve. Should we go over there and see?” “Damn right we should.” Pop said. “I’ll bet that’s where you left it!” With that he gave a sharp nod of his head. I drifted along behind them even though my car was parked in a different direction. “Ya know.” Pop said. “I’ve told ya before about keepin’ track of things.” “I know Pop.” “Remember that time you lost your sister’s bicycle?” “I remember Pop.” “I finded that for ya’ didn’t I?” “Yes you did Pop.” “Well...don’t worry John. We’ll find it.” “I know you will Pop. But I’m Will.” “ I know that!” Pop said irritably, without patience for meaningless details. “Is that it over there?” Pop raised his hand once more. “Yeah Pop! That’s it! You found it!” “Well then let’s get to it!” Pop slapped his hand down on his own knee. He was no longer the man I’d first seen staring up at the holes in the celotex above his bed. He was a man taking his son out to dinner. “Step it up John...we don’t have all day ya know!” Will finally took notice of me. I looked away quickly and turned down the aisle of cars that would circle back to my own. “Sure Pop.” were the last words I heard Will say. I felt like an intruder. An unauthorized listener to a family album. I felt honored to have met Will and his Dad, even though we never spoke.