Old age is like being on a ship at sea during a storm, once in it, nothing can be done. Hal Cantor thought this way and never cared about the days ahead. He was seventy-five years old, walked with a cane, and a body brittle as hairs on a hog.

He lived with his daughter, Terrie, and her two-year-old son, Justin. They lived in a vinyl-side bungalow with a red thatch roof. His daily routine included eating a bowl of hot oatmeal for breakfast and chicken soup at night. Hal watched television all day long except for frequent trips to the bathroom.

One morning, Hal wobbled into the kitchen. He wore baggy blue stripe pajamas bottoms and a stained sleeveless T-shirt that looked like a used napkin at I-Hop. His long yellow nails scratched his scraggly white beard, which he promised his daughter to shave off three days before, but claimed he was too busy.

"Where's your mother?" Hal yawned, looking down at his grandson, sitting on the floor, pulling the Beagle's tail.

"Digging," Justin laughed as his dog, Cosmo, letting out a whelp.

Hal grunted and walked to the cupboard. He reached to the top shelf for a plastic bowl. "Ah, this arthritis is killing me," the man groaned, complaining to his daughter every day. Hal believed a witch doctor came to his room while sleeping and stuck pins in his right shoulder. The old man asked his daughter for a lock on his door.

Terrie would roll her eyes and tell her father that he watched too much National Geographic. She then walked away.

Hal ambled to the pantry. His brown eyes glared at the box of oatmeal on the shelf. A repulsive taste adhered to his tongue as his stomach churned. Fifteen days of the exact breakfast diminished any desire of ever eating again. He acquainted this travesty with viewing the same rerun of Mash on the same day.

Instead, he browsed at another shelf, containing boxes of Cheerios, Cap'n Crunch, and Kellogg's Cornflakes. Hal paused at a box of bran flakes and his taste buds flourished. However, Mother Nature stormed through his alimentary canal the last time he ate a bowl of that cereal, making him missed his television shows for the entire next day.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terri's new blender adjacent to a bowl of fruit that looked like a hat that once belonged to the famous movie star of long ago, Carmen Miranda.

The cuckoo clock above the stove startled him that he almost dropped his cane. He glanced at the clock and realized his favorite television program would soon start.

Upon walking to the t.v. in the corner of the kitchen, Hal passed a window where he saw his Terri planting flowers in the backyard.

Immediately, he shook his head expelling a loud grunt. For at that moment, he recalled the occurrence earlier in the week.

Terri suggested that he should occupy his time more constructively by working in the garden and less concentration on the boob tube. He agreed with such delight that Hal stormed to his room. He dressed in blue denim pants torn at the knees and wore a faded yellow tee shirt containing the image of Woody the Woodpecker. This attire remained equivalent to his Sunday's best.

Hal took a shovel and began digging a hole. His daughter objected to everything her father did. She complained the hole was too deep or not round enough. Terri whined over many seeds he planted in one hole. Then, she squawked over the abundance of water he used or the scarcity.

Finally, Hal tightened his lips, dropped the shovel, sauntered into the house, and ending his fantasy of being the next Luther Burbank.

He then turned on the television. Jeopardy had just started. Still, he craved for something to eat. Again, he returned to the blender.

Maybe, I'll have something nutritious. Hal thought, rolling the tip of his tongue across his upper lip. With a gleam in his eye, he took a knife from the cabinet drawer and sliced a pear, strawberries, blueberries, and a peeled banana. One by one, Hal dropped the pieces into a blender, pretending he was Wolfgang Puck on the Food Channel. He walked over to the refrigerator, took out a gallon of milk, and poured it over the fruit. "A masterpiece," he boasted aloud, believing his concoction might be good enough to sell on E-bay.

Meanwhile, his ears became tuned to Alex Trevec. The category was television shows. Hal watched the screen as he heard the question: Who said: "Pow, right to the moon, Alice."

Hal pounded his fist on the table. "I know it," he yelled, jubilantly. He frowned as none of the contestants shouted the answer. "It's Jackie Gleason." He shook his head and found it unbelievable that none of them knew. "It's from the Honeymooners," He threw his hands up in disgust. He turned on the blender.

The blades of the blender oscillated that it hampered Hal from hearing the program. He walked closer to the television, waiting for Alex to reveal the answer. Hal gave a sly smile as the answer again fell from his lips. As Alex announced the answer, Hal heard a scream as the screen door slammed shut.

Terri stood at the door with flushed cheeks and cold hard eyes.
Her hysterics startled him until Hal saw his "masterpiece" splattered across the white ceiling and the blue mosaic tile floor but most of all, his fruitful conception had been splashed upon Justin who now looked like a banana split from Dairy Queen.

Meanwhile, she scurried to the blender and shut it down. Her fiery blue eyes stared at her father as her chest rapidly moved up and down.

"Whoops." A flush of embarrassment burned his cheeks.

"WHOOPS!" She yelled, raising her brows. The rage sizzled inside her as the tapping of her shoe continued endlessly. "We will have a talk after I clean this place up," she said, lifting Justin from the floor and stomping her feet. Terrie shook her head as she trampled out of the room.

Hal took out rolls of paper towels from the cabinet and began cleaning the kitchen. He knew by her nettled tone that he dug himself another hole, which to Hal was a daily routine.

An hour later, Terri returned, forcing a smile while noticing her clean kitchen.

Hal remained quiet as a little boy at school, waiting to be acknowledged by his teacher. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Terri accepted his apology as she did the previous week when he tried to install a glass window with Justin's silly putty after smashing a window. He blamed Cosmo from not catching the ball. What next? She thought. With her husband in the military and a rambunctious toddler, Terri had to find an outlet for her father, something for him to do. It was either that or throwing herself off the roof.

Terri laid a pamphlet on the table for Hal to see.

"What's that?" he grumbled.

"Information about the senior community center," she said.

"A senior center!" He scoffed. "Who wants to be around old people?"

"Other old people, like you." She cocked her eyebrow.

Terrie opened the pamphlet. "They play poker, chess, go to museums and concerts. They do many things." Terri looked her father shake his head to every event she mentioned. Realizing, she has enough influence on him as Adam over Eve.

After bickering back and forth, Terri exhausted her patience. "You have to find something to occupy yourself during the day,"

"I watched television," he snarled, waving his hand in protest, mortified by his daughter's recommendation.

She raised her hand, slapping it in the middle of her forehead. "Watching Maury all afternoon hardly stimulates the mind." With her forefinger, she vigorously tapped the side of her head.

"I don't watch him all afternoon," he groaned.

"You watch it so much that in the middle of the night while you're sleeping, I hear you yell, you are not the baby's father."

Hall groaned. "Okay, I'll watch the Jerry Springer instead."

Terri jerked her head back, closing her eyes, and wondering if she would ever find solace or, would her mind just snap, and just jump off the roof to end the madness.

Hal looked at his watch. He suddenly agreed to attend the center, wanting the battle to end so he could watch Family Feud.

The next day, they drove to the center. Hal stepped out of the car and walked down the red cobbled stone path the led to the automatic doors of the rectangular, one-story white stone building. He realized his daughter remained adamant and refused to bulge, even if he turned to CNN. He knew Terri had a heart of gold, but she also had a stubborn streak as long as the Nile River.

A young woman greeted him at the door. "Megan Williams," she said, smiling softly, gently shaking his hand. She looked to be in her early twenties.

He observed her tall, slender body, short flaming red hair, and sparkling blue eyes. Hal felt thundered in his heart like when he ate just chili dogs. This time, however, the sensation was more gratifying as he watched her hips sway reminding him of the pendulum on his grandfather's clock, observing he still had fire upstairs, even though the rest of him had turned to ashes.

They sat at a round wooden table, across from each other. Ms. Williams had a notebook in her hand and told Hal about the daily activities.

As far as Hal was concerned, she could have been discussing the dynamics of evolution because he stayed focus on her body.

"We play shuffleboard every Wednesday afternoon," she said.

Hal smiled, nodding to her every word and not paying attention to any. Instead, his eyes ventured down south towards the open button of her cream color blouse. He saw her cleavage and part of her breast, which reminded him of an orange that he so desperately wanted to squeeze. He even wondered if she was still a virgin. It didn't matter, he thought, at his age, he would probably need a forklift to get it up

"Time for lunch," she said.

"I love shuffleboard," he interrupted, aborting his scurrilous thoughts.

"I'm talking about lunch." Meagan squinted, suddenly capturing his wandering eyes. She buttoned her blouse as she narrowed her eyes, giving the old man a flat look.

When the meeting ended Megan invited Hal to stay for lunch, but he declined.

"My daughter is waiting for me outside." He lied.

"I hoped to see you here soon." She shook his hand,

"Of course," he responded enthusiastically, telling himself the day of his returning to the center was the day Santa Claus shaves off his beard.

Hal walked outdoors to rays of the sunshine and a clear blue sky. His nose crinkled, smelling the sweet fragrance of red and white roses edged beneath the windows of the center. Laughter and yelling came from across the street in the park. Hal saw six boys playing baseball.

He crossed the street to watch the kids play until Terri would pick him up. Vehicles raced down the street as Hal dodged the cars while crossing the boulevard, feeling like the Road Runner running away from the farmer with an ax. Reaching the curb, Hal raised his left leg. The tip of his shoe stubbed the edge of the curb, and he fell face down in the grass.

Hearing his groans, the boys ran and helped him off the ground.

"Thank you," Hal said, as they assisted him to a wooden bench adjacent to where they were playing.

As they played, Hal noticed the batter holding the bat wrong. Hal tried telling him several times to correct the boy, but the young player ignored Hal. He knew nobody wanted to listen to a dinosaur like himself. He thought the youth must believe that when you past sixty, give the old geezer a box of Depends and dump him in a nursing home.

However, after a few more strikeouts, the boy strolled over to Hal, wiping the sweat with the back of his hand off his forehead.

"Hey mister, what do you mean I'm holding the bat wrong?" the kid asked in a squeaky voice.

Hal smiled. "I'll show you." He grabbed the bat, placed his fingers correctly on the bat, and gave it a few swings. He returned the bat to the boy. "You try it."

The kid took a few swipes. Then, he smiled, feeling confident that he would do better. "Thanks, mister." The boy ran back to the others.

When the kid came up at bat, he hit a single, then a double and ended the afternoon with a home run. After passing third base, he waved to Hal. "Thanks, mister."

Hal smiled, waving back. His eyes sparkled as he felt a warm glow from his heart. Someone had recognized for his knowledge rather than an old geezer taking up Oxygen.

Soon, the other boys walked to the bench, asking Hal various questions about the game, from batting to running the bases. Even the pitcher who gave up the home run asked Hal if he could help him with his pitching.

Hal felt as though he had just won the million-dollar lottery. His smiles could have lit up Yankee Stadium as he fired back his answers, enjoying their radiant smiles.

"Hey mister, how come you know so much?" one boy asked.

"I played in the minors," Hal responded.

The boy tilted his head, giving the man a look of uncertainty until Hal explained.

"The minor league is a stepping stone to the majors." His heart leaped with joy, knowing the excitement he contained that a little boy found interest in the past.

The kid formed the letter o. "A real baseball player," he said, jerking his head back.

The old man laughed, with his wide glowing eyes at each story he told.

Hal, however, skipped the part of him never making it to the big leagues. He thought the youngsters wouldn't understand that his curve ball put three men in the hospital. Instead, he talked about players like Nellie Fox.

"Who is he?" asked a boy.

Unbelievable! Hal thought, amazed the boy did not know such a renowned second baseman in the majors. He then realized those were ancient times as far as these kids were concerned.

"Nellie Fox played for the Chicago White Sox and helped them to the pennant back in 1959 and he won the Most Valuable Player Award that year," he said.

The boys were awed by Hal's stories. With their mouths open wide and eyes gleaming, he knew they wanted more.

Unfortunately, Terri slammed on the horn as she parked near the stop sign, waiting for her father.

Much to his regret of ending a fabulous journey into the past, Hal stepped into the car. His eyes twinkled as he prepared to tell his daughter of new experience.

"Did you fill out all the forms for the center?" she asked, assuring his membership would start without delay.

Hall nodded, attempting again to share the news about the boys.

"Can you go every day, starting tomorrow?" she interrupted.

"Yes." He snapped, knowing she was deaf to anything he had to say. Hal sat silently for the remainder of the trip wishing his wife had been alive to have a conversation with her rather than just answers questions.

The next morning Hall dressed in baggy gray pants and a pinstripe tee shirt. His daughter made him bacon, eggs, and cinnamon toast. He knew his daughter wanted him away from the stove and the blender.

"After breakfast, I'll drive you to the center." She poured coffee into his white porcelain cup.

Hal winced. "I thought I skip a day. I don't want to be a pest." He spooned up a portion of scrambled eggs and shoved it in his mouth.

Terri rolled her eyes. "Dad, you won't be a pest, not there anyway."

Hal ate slowly. His exhilaration of going to the center was like a turkey on the eve of Thanksgiving.

Arriving at the center, Hal climbed out of the car and gazed across the street to the park, hoping the boys would be there but saw nobody.

Hoping of engaging in a conversation with Meagan, even wishing that she forgot to button her blouse, would be his only highlight of his visit. Unfortunately, a young man greeted him at the door. He had a long black ponytail down his skinny back, reminding Hal of the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz.

"Hi, I'm Jim Green." The employee shook Hal's hand.

"Hal Cantor," he said, as their hands clasped.

"We have a shuffleboard tournament today," Mr. Green announced ecstatically.

"Terrific." Hal forced a smile, wishing he stayed home and watched Gunsmoke.

After a bridge of silence, Hal gazed at a table filled with coffee and sprinkled donuts. He excused himself and trekked across the tile floor to the refreshments. He placed a Styrofoam cup under the urn, filling the steamy coffee to the rim of the cup. Adding several packages of sugar to his coffee as his eyes surveyed a tray of donuts, finely choosing the chocolate one.

He fervently digested his donut when a man of his age sat next to him. After a brief introduction, both men conveyed that they rather be anywhere but the center.

"I love fishing," snapped the man.

"Watching television, that's retirement," Hal boasted.

They agreed that once there are too many candles on the birthday cake, the family makes all your decisions.

"My son tells me when to eat and go to sleep," growled the old man.

"And my daughter won't even let me use her blender." Hal sighed.

"How pathetic."

Soon, they reminisced about the good old days when a bottle of Coke was just a nickel, and you could see comedians like Bob Hope and Eddie Cantor on stage for sixteen cents.

"Now, you can't even buy a package of gum for that amount of money, not that I have the teeth to chew it." Hal groaned.

"And the way us old timers are treated, making us live on meager Social Security checks while raising our taxes and boosting our prescriptions. I bet one day this young generation makes a pill to give us old folk so that we die at seventy." The man sneered.

"You're right, and I bet my daughter will buy the first one."

"How pathetic."

Their topics of conversation swayed like a Hawaiian girl doing the Hula, but Mr. Green soon interrupted them.

"We are starting our shuffleboard tournament and our poker games," he said in his monotone voice then blowing the whistle tied to an orange cord that hung around his turkey neck.

Both men cringed from the shrilling sound. Settling their frayed nerves, they looked upon Mr. Green with frowns before snarling about the choices of games they were to select.

They decided on the game of cards and joined three other men seated at a round wooden table. They received one hundred poker chips and began playing seven-card stud.

Hal grunted and grumbled during the game, shouting to Mr. Spencer always telling him when his turn came around. Mr. Gibbons repeatedly asked Hal what game they were playing. However, Mr. Franklin topped them all. He continuously made flatulent pops that sounded like the Valentine Massacre. The smell gave Hal the distinct feeling they were playing poker in the pastures of Old MacDonald's farm.


Frustrated, Hal excused himself and walked to the window for some fresh air. To his delight, he saw the boys playing baseball across the street. "I'll see you later," he yelled to the men.

"When are you coming back?" Mr. Gibbons asked.

"When that guy stops eating pork and beans."

Hal ambled his way through the automatic doors and across the street.

The boys greeted him like a lost puppy that made its way home. They shook his hand, which made Hal feel like a Hollywood celebrity.

The boys wanted Hal to improve their skills. Then, they started asking him about his playing days. He told them about giving some batting advice to a young person named Mickey Mantle.

"Who?" a boy said.

Hal rolled his eyes. "He played center field and first base for the New York Yankees. In 1974, baseball reporters voted him into the Hall of Fame."

He saw the smiles on their faces with every word he spoke that made the old man feel wanted and needed, a shroud of warmth that faded during the past years.

The honking of Terri's horn again interrupted his sole delight. Hal dropped his chin as he sadly told them farewell.

"Hey mister, will we see you tomorrow?" asked a freckled-face boy.

"You bet and I told you before you can call me Hal."

"Okay, mister." the wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. "Thank you for helping us."

"And, thank you for helping me," Hal replied, which the boy gave him an uncertain look as to his own accomplishment of giving the old man any assistance.

With a smile stretching from ear to ear, he stepped into his daughter's car.

"I see you made some new friends." Terri smiled.

"Never too old to make new friends." He waved to the boy, anxiously awaiting for the brink of another day.