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Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

I had a stroke.

Now I have an excuse for not remembering someone’s name.

I got up in the morning, walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I like to smile at the mirror every morning, so I’ll make at least one person smile each day. I took a gander. My odd reflection looked odder than usual. One side of my smile had a severe droop to it. A trip to the ER and an ambulance ride (with a few minor bumps in the road) to another hospital, which obligated me to tell 73 health care professionals (each of whom was an angel) my name and birth date before they’d ask to see my smile. I spent a few days in the hospital and am on the mend. I recommend the aspirin suppository and the saline solution drip. The removal of countless sticky EKG electrodes allowed me to get something off my chest — hair. I’ve moved from taking no prescription drugs to taking enough to put my piggy bank on a rapid weight-loss program. My smile has returned. I’m happy to see it.

Which brings me to the actual subject of my column.

It was during the winter because I was perfecting my free-throw defense in basketball. Ice fishermen had started rumors of alligators and piranhas in St. Olaf Lake. They advised using stink bait to catch them.

I needed to interview an older adult for a school assignment, focusing on questions about childhood, upbringing, education and significant historical moments, details about their daily life, hobbies, family traditions, what they’re most proud of and insights into their perspective on the past compared to today.

I wasn’t one to wait until the last minute. I waited until the day before it was due. I was a chronic overachiever. Anticipation hung in the air.

Grandma was easy to find. It was back in the days when retired people stayed put. She lived in St. Benedict, Iowa, which was all downhill from my house. The town was tiny — barely a whole number. It would have been even smaller without Grandma. A rumor was that Grandma was once my age, but it was unsubstantiated.

“Hi, Grandma, thanks for taking the time to chat with me today. Where were you born, what was your family like when you were growing up and what’s your favorite childhood memory?”

Grandma was a reluctant witness put on the stand to be grilled by the most masterful attorney since Perry Mason. I wanted answers, but she was determined not to divulge any family secrets.

Her life hadn’t been all butterflies, hummingbirds, fireflies and bluebirds. She had a passel of kids, a battalion of grandchildren and great-grandchildren galore, but I knew I was her favorite because she fondly referred to me as “Whatshisname.”

Grandma proved slicker than a boiled onion. She dismissed my questions with a tut-tut. I learned nothing and forgot much of what I knew.

She asked me how I knew she was telling the truth. I figured she’d used up her imagination, and I didn’t think grandmothers could lie.

Here are my questions and Grandma’s answers:

I asked her to tell me about the day my father was born. She said, “It was a hot June day. Or it might have been a cold June day when he was born. Or that might have been the June day when your twin aunts, Doris and Dorothy, were born.”

I asked her if she’d rather play in the sand or the snow. “Neither.’”

I asked if she could have one superpower, what it would be, and why. “Next question.”

Is there anything you’d change in your life? “Yes, I’d like fewer questions.”

What’s the greatest life lesson you’ve learned? “Tell no one everything you know.”

I tricked her into giving one answer: What do you think was the biggest change you’ve seen in your lifetime, other than family things, and how did it impact your life? I hoped it would prompt reflection. The answer came at a gallop. “Electricity.” Electricity gave her day at night, and she wondered why lanterns hadn’t burned every barn to the ground.

What would you like to be remembered for? “Your Aunt Eddie has made her sugar cookies. They’re fresh from the oven. I want to be remembered as someone who gave you a plate of warm sugar cookies that your Aunt Eddie made.”

The judge dismissed the witness.

What would she say about being able to do her shopping, change the TV channel, open the garage door and correspond with the world without leaving the davenport?

If I listened with both ears, I’d hear crickets.

Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday in the Tribune.