Let There Be Light

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On his annual joke show, Garrison Keillor cracked one that went something like this:

Grandfather was lying on his deathbed. 
The family gathered around him.
Grandfather inquired, weakly, 
“Are my grandchildren here?”
“Yes,” someone gently replied.
“Are all my sons and daughters here?” 
“Yes,” someone said, “they’re all here.”
“My sisters, and brothers, and cousins, too?”
“Yes, Grandfather, everyone.”
“If everyone’s here,” Grandfather asked,
“then why is the light on in the kitchen?” 

Twice, Pop has fallen in the dark. Both times, he busted a piece of furniture to break his fall. The first time, it was one of those fold-up “TV dinner” tables. The second time, it was the divan in his bedroom—he broke one of the arms off it. Both times, he got away with minor bruises. He’s fallen in the daylight, too—when he’s been in a hurry. To be sure, nobody has ever, nor will ever, accuse Pop of being a slowpoke. 

Last night, I came downstairs and found him watching his favorite show, “The Bachelor.” The only source of light in the room came from the TV. So I flipped the switch for the ceiling lights. He told me to turn them off if I wasn’t going to stay. I reminded him of his two previous nighttime falls. He said the TV gave him all the light he needed. And I said, “Ok, so what about when you turn the TV off?” And he said, “What about it?”

So I threatened to call Betty to back me up. He told me to do whatever I wanted, so long as I shut off the light when I left.

So I called her. 

Then Betty called Pop, and Pop—though he thought it “ridiculous”—switched on his reading lamp. Never mind what happens when he switches it and the TV off to go up to bed. 

Sure seems like these Depression Era survivors will, in their waning days, risk their necks to save a few pennies. 

20 May 2004

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