Lani's Blog

Playing Games

Prompt:Are you a sports fan? Tell us about fandom. If you’re not, tell us why not





This is not the story I meant to write but it is the story that came out of my pen. It is one that started rattling around my memory when I saw the words sports. Mr. Smythe is a configuration of many gentlemen I took care as a student before I graduated nursing school.  As to the answer to question in the prompt, I already sorta did a few years ago in a post about my dad."Thoughts About My Dad" 





It was that lovely time between supper and last rounds at the nursing home where I worked. Most of the residents were watching TV, getting ready for bed or already asleep. I was trying to cajole a pair of dentures from my elderly patient when the charge nurse stopped by with her med cart. She looked over the situation for a moment as said with a smile,





“Mr. Smythe doesn’t wear dentures.”





I looked at him in surprise. Mr. Smythe was always a little off, a little too in his own world. Though I wasn’t a new nursing assistant, this was the first time I helped him get ready for bed. Usually his granddaughter or his wife assisted him.





“But he kept trying to take his “dentures” out,” I said.





“I don’t know what game he playing with you but you might want to finish up. It’s getting late and the next round is starting,” she replied and then left.





Game playing! Surely not this frail old man who was murmuring softly to himself? Could he really be pulling my leg? Okay maybe so, as he took off his pajamas as soon as I helped him into them or pulled the linen up after I turned the bed down. I drew myself a breath and myself up into all of the inches of height I had and said firmly,





“Mr. Smythe, I have had enough! Please leave your PJs on and crawl into bed. I will call your wife so she can say goodnight to you and I will leave on the football game on TV. But Now is the time for bed.”





After that I had no more trouble. I even got him to brush his real teeth with minimal fuss. Mr. Smythe got to hear his wife say good night and the Chicago Bears trounce the opposition. As I smooth his blankets and tucked him in for the night, he turned at me in a rare moment of lucidity.





“You know, teasing a pretty student nurse is sometimes the only sport left to me.”





I saw sadness and unshed tears in his eyes before he resumed his murmuring.





I remember him with fondness, and I hope Mr. Smythe remembered me with kindness.