Gay Geezer Getting Up After a Big Bad Fall

I talked to two people yesterday. To my sister, of course, a daily check-in, and then to D, my dissertation adviser. Honest to God, he was demon possessed, even meaner than my father. We fought all the time. But after I was finally done, he became an advocate, writing glowing congratulations when I published another article.

We zoomed, and there was his face again. Why did I want to talk? Because E, also one of his students–easily the most brilliant–a force of nature, controlling a huge program at a very prestigious university and an internationally recognized scholar, has died…of cancer. She was a tough lady, and she kept my lazy brain working and productive. Relentless. Focused. When she found out that I had retired and was no longer doing research, I never heard from her again. It was still shocking that yet another of my age cohort is gone.

And so D. 90 years old, but still pissed about something. This time, at the rector of his church, whom he is planning to tell off before leaving the church permanently. “He is completely into himself,” says the man leaving behind three wives and six (or is it seven?) children. The last wife, I met. She was lovely, and somehow able to tame the savage beast. D’s words were contrite. He talked about alienating much of his family and the many violent arguments he had with E. Yet everything–even the bitterest regrets–was said in a monotone. The years have left their marks, but he mostly looked the same. What a strange little man.