...when I ask questions, they clam right up. Mustn't upset Grandpa, you know.
Why? That's what I want to know. I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page...
I've decided it's not about me at all. It's a protective mechanism for them, a way of buffering themselves against my future death.
My platitudes don't hold their interest and I can hardly blame them for that. My real stories are all out of date. So what if I can speak firsthand about the Spanish flu, the advent of the automobile, world wars, cold wars, guerrilla wars, and Sputnik - that's all ancient history now. That's the reality of getting old, and I guess that's really the crux of the matter. I'm not ready to be old yet.
Water for Elephants
What's the best thing about growing old?