Pension Day

I was in the front garden when Danny came round the corner. He lives next door to me with his more prosperous sister. He was wearing that forty-year old double-breasted suit with bellbottoms that he had inherited from his father. Complemented by a pencil thin moustache, his gray hair parted in the middle; ala David Kramer.

Fifteen years my junior, but he looks 65.

His face was flushed and his movement not too steady. Probably been sitting at Ricky’s Pub since opening time; his entire disability allowance squandered.

It is uncanny how he maintains his balance by moving one step sideways for each two forward. One to the left, two forward and just as you think he’s going down, his right foot shoots out to check his balance. Then a neat double step to the left again to stay upright.

To think that for many months Danny was bedridden. He could hardly move a finger. The arthritis was killing him. The poor man could not even eat by himself. His sister had to spoon-feed him.

Four times his nephew took him to the clinic in a wheel chair. And he was complaining all the way about going too fast! Yes, he even complained to the district nurse about the indignity of being carted around in a pram, as if he did not know about the wheelchair.

The poor woman believed him and insisted on an eye test, which he failed, of course. He could not even see the eye chart.

Arthritis, blindness, deafness, blood pressure, backaches and heaven knows what all. And he’s just turned forty-six. This certainly justified a disability allowance.

Danny got his allowance. Then the unbelievable recovery came. Look how he stares at those two girls walking on the other side of the road. Remarkable for a man who was almost blind just last year; and he can pour his own beer now too, but last year he could not even hold a teaspoon.

Miracles do still happen!

Enjoy your day.