Memory and Education

Here in our large Florida retirement community, we have a growing number of facilities designed to support and house those among us who can no longer live alone and require some level of assistance. Rehab facilities and physical therapy practices abound, helping those who are recovering from surgery, illness, or injury. We’ve also witnessed the construction of many facilities supplying various levels of assisted living. But increasingly common among these new facilities are those devoted to “memory care.” Given today’s remarkable advances in medicine, for many of us seniors, our bodies are outliving our minds. We see so many physically healthy seniors suffering from various forms of dementia. This, combined with the ravages of such diseases as Alzheimer’s, and the inability of aging spouses to care effectively for their loved ones, has created the growing need for this level of institutional care. 

As a deacon, I often visit patients in memory care facilities. Over time their dementia seems to have as great an effect on care-giving spouses and other family members as it has on the patients. I see this far too often as spouses witness and personally experience the gradual loss of the human presence of those they have known and loved for most of their lives. To experience, gradually over time, the complete loss of one’s memory is inevitably to lose awareness of one’s surroundings, of others, and even of self. I recently visited a parishioner who’s in an advanced stage of dementia. I hadn’t seen him in a while and was saddened to encounter only a shell of the man I had known. But there were signs of recognition, signs of faith. When I prayed the Our Father aloud, his lips moved silently along with the words. I've come to believe that in some way we cannot perceive, he will always know the God who brought him into being. 

Societies, too, seem to experience collective memory loss. Some results from the normal passage of time and our tendency to focus on the present or the more immediate future. I recall once being told by a professor of managerial psychology, "You can do nothing about the past, so why focus on it." Of course, he was absolutely nuts. And I immediately thought of Henry Ford's famous and blunt evaluation: "History is bunk." In truth he really didn't say that, but what he actually said in that interview wasn't very different:

"History is more or less bunk. It's tradition. We don't want tradition. We want to live in the present and the only history that is worth a tinker's damn is the history we make today."

Neither Henry Ford, nor my grad school professor, apparently agreed with George Santayana's more famous comment:

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

As for myself, I'm more comfortable with Santayana's approach to history than Henry Ford's. Ford was a great manufacturer who could drive his products down that assembly line right into the showroom. But what he knew about tradition you could etch on the head of a pin with a jackhammer. And since he's not around to defend himself, I can attack his attack and fear no rebuttal. 

You see, I look at tradition in its theological sense. I see it as God's communication of Himself to us. As the Church understands tradition (and in the words of the late Cardinal Avery Dulles): 

"Its content is the whole Christian reality disclosed in Jesus Christ...transmitted not only by written and spoken words, but equally by prayer, sacramental worship, and participation in the Church's life."  

Sadly, too many, like old Henry Ford, ignore not only spiritual tradition but even secular tradition. They seem to suffer from a form of temporal bias or bigotry which encourages them to believe that progress toward the good, or at least the better, is inevitable. These are the folks who believe the ancients -- and that includes any generation before their own -- must have been far less intelligent because they didn't have iPhones and iPads or YouTube and TikTok and Google. And using these devices and apps they generate little or nothing of real lasting value. 

Today, too many of our institutions of "higher education" -- all those colleges and universities -- have devolved into high-priced trade schools, turning out well trained but poorly educated graduates. They are trained as coders, or marketers, or number crunchers, or influencers. Some are taught to be teachers, but they learn only how to teach, not what to teach. They might be ready to enter a narrowly defined field or profession, but do they possess an understanding of the human condition? Are they aware of the philosophical and theological struggles that have brought humanity to its present state? Do they know why they exist and what God intends for them? Do they know God and themselves? They, too, are the victims of memory deprivation inflicted on them by lesser souls.

The truly valuable, the great works of men and women of the past are being neglected in too many of our schools. They and the traditions they represent have been intentionally forgotten, eliminated from curricula, discarded from libraries, and certainly not read by or taught to students. Fortunately, there are some schools where the "great books" still have pride of place, and where a truly liberal education remains the sought-after end. I believe St. John's College in Annapolis was among the first of these, but today there are many others, including Thomas Aquinas College, where my daughter, Erin, studied. 

I'm glad I'm as old as I am, so I don't have to help my children make these decisions in today's crumbling world. If I were raising children today, I'd teach them about the real, living tradition that God has revealed to us, about the wondrous relationship between God and His people. And then I'd encourage them to become useful members of society as plumbers, librarians, electricians, beauticians, house painters, farmers, mechanics, even teachers. Doing that, it's less likely your job will consume you or monopolize your life, but it might provide the leisure you need to live the life God wants for you. How you and I live, however, is always our choice.

Aging...Not So Gracefully

In September 1980, Pope John Paul II opened an International Forum on Active Aging with an address to the participants. It was brief address but contained some wonderful insights. Keep in mind, at the time the Holy Father spoke these words, he was only 60 years old, hardly what we would consider very elderly. (Indeed, right now I'm just a couple of years from 80, but back in 1980 I was just a kid in my mid-thirties. As we used to say, time flies when you're having fun, and most of my life has been truly enjoyable.)

Anyway, forgetting all of that, I was struck by one particular comment in Pope John Paul's address:

"To turn our attention to the elderly is to realize how much they are a part of God's plan for the world, with their mission to fulfill, their unique contribution to make, their problems to solve, their burdens to bear" [Active Aging, 2]

Reading these words today, I find them wonderfully supportive. If I had read this address back in 1980, I doubt I would have paid much attention to that sentence. After all, at the time I was still rather young, and wouldn't have considered these words personally applicable. In other words, most young people are more self-focused than other-focused. Okay, that's a generalization, but a reasonable accurate and understandable one. Young people are making their way through what to them is a new and expanding world in which they are growing, testing, discovering, and learning. One would expect them to be more wrapped up in themselves because they're still in the process of becoming fully human, physically, mentally, and spiritually. 

When I was younger, I didn't ignore the past, but most of my attention focused on the present and the future. Today it's just the opposite. I often turn, or return, to the past, especially my personal past, where I encounter an accessible storehouse of knowledge, wisdom, lessons, strategies, tactics, cautions, signs, sound counsel, and, yes, many mistakes. These I can apply to the present as I look forward to an unknown and largely unplanned future. I was fortunate to have worked for and with many intelligent, and occasionally wise, people who willingly shared their thoughts and wisdom with me. I might have rejected some of their ideas and principles, but I didn't forget them, and tucked them away in that same storehouse. I was especially blessed to have worked with my father for many years. When I joined him in his consulting business, he was nearing 70 and over time he taught me more than I could possibly have learned anywhere else. I've also been an avid reader, another habit that has provided me with hundreds of wise and not so wise counselors. These habits, manifested as a kind of healthy prejudice, have helped me separate error from truth and accept the reality of God's wondrous creation. 

As I experience the world my generation has both inherited and molded, I realize we have allowed the unchecked growth of some very evil ideologies. Today, for example, the elderly (a group increasingly hard to define) are considered by many to be similar to the unborn. If, because of physical or mental decline, they have become inconvenient, we’ll then, society should be able to “take care” of them. After all, we old folks consume a lot of taxpayer funds through Social Security, Medicare, and other government programs. Back when these programs were conceived nobody dreamed that average lifespans or associated costs would increase so much. 

Attitudes here in The Villages, a retirement community with well over 100,000 residents, are perhaps a little different. The extensive healthcare community here tends to be far more elderly focused since we make up the vast majority of its patients. The irony, as you might expect, is that many "Villagers" don't seem to realize or accept that they are elderly...until they are confronted with life-threatening injury or illness. At that point our supposed Disney World for seniors suddenly becomes God's vestibule. I've encountered the same awareness in our parish. So often new parishioners tell me they haven't attended Mass in decades, but now believe God is calling them to return. I jokingly call it the "nearer my God to Thee" syndrome, but it's really quite true. As life nears its end, those long-neglected seeds of faith take root and blossom anew.

In his address, Pope John Paul also remarked how the presence of the elderly "enriches the home." And yet how many of us are physically separated from our grown families, often the result of societal changes or personal decisions that have pulled families apart geographically? Those of us residing in retirement communities throughout the country no longer live in multi-generational homes of the sort so common decades ago. My guess is that little enrichment can be experienced via Zoom or FaceTime. 

Just consider my own experience. Although I was born in Connecticut, where most of our close relatives lived, my family moved to the suburbs of New York City when I was only five, a move driven by my father's work. For similar reasons we also lived for a time in northwest Florida and Germany. After I graduated from high school, my parents moved to Cape Cod. I spent the next five years trying to get educated in Washington, DC and Annapolis, MD. Then, as a newly commissioned naval officer, I headed south to Pensacola for flight training and marriage to Diane. As our family grew, we bounced between the coasts until we, too, made our way to Cape Cod, a wonderful place to raise the children but a place far from both of our childhood roots. 

Even at my current age I like to think I have something to offer to those who share the little slice of creation in which God has placed me. I believe, as our saintly Pope John Paul stated, that I still have a mission to fulfill, a unique contribution to make, perhaps a few problems to solve, and many burdens to bear. This is what keeps me going. Too many of my contemporaries, who seem to define themselves and their lives solely by their secular work, consider their retirement a reward that frees them not only from that work, but also from the Church's call to evangelization. 

I'll conclude with another quote from Pope John Paul's address in which he emphasized this call:

"Old age is able to enrich the world through prayer and counsel; its presence enriches the home; its immense capacity for evangelization by word and example, and by activities eminently adapted to the talents of the elderly is a force for the Church of God yet to be thoroughly understood or adequately utilized." [Active Aging, 5]

Now that we have time on our hands, perhaps we should get to work, God's work.

Gone to the Dogs

My life has changed drastically since we  adopted our dog, Maddie. I now join her on two-mile walks twice daily, once in the early morning and again in the afternoon. My days, once relatively free and and far less predictable, have now become as regulated as the German rail system. Contributing to this change, Dear Diane gave me a FitBit for Christmas. This clever little wristwatch-like device provides me with a wealth of health-related facts. I now know how many steps I take daily (always between 11,000 and 16,000), my heart rate, the miles I've walked, and all sorts of other data. I'm told the American Heart Association recommends walking at least 10,000 steps daily. After two months with this device I suspect the American Association of Funeral Directors recommends a minimum of 11,000.

Maddie - 5 am Wake-up

In truth these walks with Maddie have been a delight, even though the morning edition sometimes starts long before dawn. On Thursday mornings, for example, Diane and I must be at the soup kitchen by 6:30 so I set the alarm for 5:00. This gives Maddie and me enough time for our 45-minute walk in the early morning darkness. Maddie dislikes being taken from her bed so early, but adjusts well after a few full-body stretches and gaping yawns. Within a few minutes she's at the door, ready to go. She and I leave the house promptly at 5:10 and wander through our neighborhood enjoying the pre-dawn silence.

For Maddie a walk in the dark is really no different from a walk in the noonday sun. She's just happy to be out in the world where she can enjoy its variety of smells and sounds. Unlike most people, the average dog is easy to please. If a dog enjoys something, it never tires of it. Indeed, dogs seem to thrive in a well-regulated, habit-driven environment.

Maddie is a rescued Bichon Frise, already six years old when she entered our home. Her life during those first six years is a complete mystery to Dear Diane and me, so we cut her a lot of slack and just enjoy her uniqueness. And, believe me, she arrived with her own personalized bundle of neuroses. For example, she dislikes riding in the car, but loves to ride in the golf cart. Of course, she's usually restrained in the backseat of the car, but sits next to me or on my lap in the golf cart. Her aversion to the car might also have something to do with the 7,000 mile, cross-country road trip we took just two weeks after she joined our little family. 

Ready to Walk

We, of course, break all the rules of dog ownership. She sleeps with us on our king-size bed, and for someone who weighs only 15 pounds, seems to take up a lot of room. She also demands long stretches of belly-rubbing each morning before rising. Of course, Diane obliges.

Maddie's also rather un-doglike in her eating habits. We feed her twice daily, after her morning and late afternoon walks, but she'll often leave a bowlful of food uneaten for hours. On Thursday, for example, we filled her bowl at 6 a.m. and it hadn't been touched when we returned from the soup kitchen at 1 p.m. I've never known a dog to do that. All our previous dogs treated each meal as if it were their last. And yet, once Maddie realized we were home for the day, she went into the kitchen and emptied her bowl. It would seem she associates eating with our presence, although oddly she will not eat if either of us are in the same room. It's all quite perplexing, but there's more.

Maddie likes most humans and really doesn't discriminate. If  she spots a dog-less person walking toward us she will often sit down and wait. When the person finally arrives she excitedly offers licks and hugs. She's this way with everyone...except one man, who lives a few blocks away. Whenever Maddie sees him she utters one of those low growls, and if he approaches she barks at him. It's all very strange since she acts this way with no one else. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

When it comes to dogs, however, she's far more circumspect. On our walks, she'll approach other dogs but always gingerly. If the other is friendly, she responds accordingly; but if she senses hostility -- and there are many little, ankle-biting Yorkies here in The Villages -- she simply backs off and avoids the offensive creature. I've seen her bark and growl at another dog only once, and he was particularly nasty old dog. Interestingly, she seems to have developed a crush on a little neighborhood Westie named Odie. It was love at first sight and has continued. If their paths cross she rushes toward him excitedly, and if we pass by his home she stares hopefully at the front door. 

Maddie has no street smarts whatsoever. Before crossing the street she doesn't check for cars, but just goes. Our other dogs seemed to realize that moving cars are large, fast, and potentially deadly objects, things to avoid. Fortunately, I still have the will to live and always restrain her on a leash. So far neither of us have been squished by a speeding SUV.

I offer these thoughts today for those considering bringing a dog into your home, especially those of you who, like Dear Diane and me, are retired. Owning a dog in retirement is far different from owning one with a houseful of children. Maddie has been a wonderful addition to our home, but a needy and demanding addition. And while your life with a dog will change drastically, I know Diane will agree that in our case the change has been a delightful one. Maddie, who sleeps at my feet as I type, is definitely a keeper. I trust she feels the same about us.