The Way Old Folks Operate

When I was a kid my grandfather Kay would eat a sensible meat and potatoes dinner at exactly 5 pm and go to bed right after Walter Cronkite went off, at 7. That always amazed me, because during the summer months the sun would be out for another two hours or more. People were outside mowing lawns and passing baseballs around and he’d get up from his corner chair and announce, “I’m turning in.”

After we got home, I’d ask my parents about it, and they always blamed it on his age. They told me it’s just the way old folks operate. I couldn’t imagine such a thing; it made no sense to me. When I grew up, free from parental oversight, I planned to stay up even later, and eat Funyuns and Chef Boyardee Pizza in a Box deep into the night. Why would you not?

“What time does he get up?” I continued my bewildered interrogation.

“Before the chickens,” my dad said.

“What?”

“Really early. Probably around 4 o’clock in the morning.”

“What does he do?!”

“I think he mostly sits at the kitchen table and smokes cigarettes and drinks coffee.”

What in the world? None of it sounded the least bit appealing, or at all logical. Would that be me someday? The thought was frightening.

Like most young kids I fought sleep and never wanted to go to bed. I begged to stay up and watch such unforgettable fare as Love, American Style and Hawaii Five-0. But I had trouble getting my parents to go along with those requests. Now that I’ve raised kids of my own, I understand why. You need some freaking downtime for the love of God. No, you can’t stay up and watch Mannix, it’s bedtime (and I need an hour or two of peace before I blow a vessel in my neck).

The thing, though? It’s never changed. I’m not quite as old as my grandfather was when he was “turning in” while the Humdinger ice cream truck was still out and about. But I’m not too far off, and I still fight sleep. I did it all through the 1980s, watching Carson and Letterman and Saturday Night Live and Night Flight. And I still do it now monkeying around on the internet, reading baseball news or watching things on Netflix. Indeed, it’s 1:45 am as I type this. So, I don’t think I’ll ever be like my grandfather, not like that.

Also, my parents are both 80 and they hit the sack at 9:30 sharp. That’s early, but a far cry from 7. So maybe it was just him, and not an inevitability. All that worrying for nothing…

But there is one sleep-related concern I was not able to escape. Heck, it wasn’t even a concern. I mocked it and scoffed with gusto. All my life I’ve heard people older than me talking about how they can’t sleep. While shaking my head in phony solemn empathy I was always thinking, “Just go to bed and close your eyes, drama queen. Is your life so wonderful you now need to make up fake problems?” I sincerely believed it was utter horseshit. I used to joke that I could’ve slept through the attack on Pearl Harbor, and it wasn’t too much of an exaggeration.

Fast forward to today and I wake up multiple times through the night, for no apparent reason. Sometimes I go right back to sleep, and other times it’s the start of a fantastic journey through everything that happened at work today, and everything that might happen tomorrow. I also thrash around the bed, flopping from side to side like a mackerel on a pier. I often wake up tired and ready for bed, with the sheets looking like someone suffered a grand mal seizure during the night. This is not good and could be payback for all my years of eye-rolling and dismissal.

When I tell people about this, they generally assume my prostate has enlarged to the size of a sweet potato and I need to constantly piss. I appreciate the age-based assumptions, but it has nothing to do with urination. It just feels like I don’t ever reach deep sleep, I’m just skimming the surface. Sometimes slightly under, sometimes slightly above. It’s not ideal.

My wife thinks I need to see a doctor and do a sleep study. But I know that’s going to lead to a compressor in the bedroom, and a full-face mask at bedtime. I can’t have that. I mean, when you start bringing in equipment from the medical supply house, and clamping a network of hoses to your head, you’re entering a new phase. Right?

On the other hand, I was reading something earlier today, apparently nodded off, and was awakened by the sensation of drool rolling out the corner of my mouth. Also, not ideal. I probably looked like Junior Samples in a gas leak.

But I’m proud to say I’m still holding the line on “the way old folks operate.” I’ve honored the goals of the idealistic apple-cheeked young Jeff Kay for decades now, staying up until all hours and eating the worst garbage America has to offer. I realize the word “hero” gets thrown around a lot, but sometimes it’s warranted. I’m also stubbornly resisting the advice of my wife on the subject, like a champion.

The only downside? I’m now the guy at work complaining that I can’t sleep at night and can sense the younglings squinting at me with disdain. And I’m very, very tired. All of the time.

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