My Eldest Reader

As yesterday was the 55^th anniversary of the day of my birth, and I don’t want to wait a year to tell you (when my birthday will fall on the day of my blogpost rotation), I share with you today the news: I have acquired my eldest reader.

Our friend Debbie had told my wife and I many times about her Aunt Mary when, at last, I shared with Debbie my deep desire to meet Mary. After several text messages and weeks of arranging, on the evening of May 31^st we finally did. We visited Mary’s apartment and enjoyed a conversation that lasted over two hours. 

You see, Aunt Mary is 110 years old. She’s more than twice my age.

Mary uses an electric scooter, but stood to greet us as we entered. Dressed beautifully, in full make-up and jewelry, Mary welcomed us to sit on her couch. Mary reminisced about her family and local friends—several of which my wife knew as a child. She told us about her husband and her years in the workforce. Interspersed with her personal history she told us of her mother telling her of the horseman that came through town announcing Lincoln’s assassination, her own experience meeting a Civil War veteran, and the day she watched a WWI victory parade—tacking on the afternoon she met JFK, “he patted me on the shoulder before giving me his autograph.”

We tired out before Mary did.

As we stood to leave Mary asked me to send her a copy of my novel, adding, “don’t forget me now.” I sent her a copy the following day. (There’s a certain urgency when a 110 year-old makes a request.) Her 85 year-old daughter is reading it to her; Mary’s eyesight only allows her to read about a paragraph before fatigue sets in. Before putting it in the mail, I signed her copy “of all the books you’ve read in the last century, I hope this is among your favorites.”

I’ll never forget Aunt Mary. And, unless I miss my guess, neither will you.