Be Useful Or Die
He was benched from the team, then he died.
Maybe his story could help save your life.
I thought he was just sad because he couldn’t go bowling anymore.
But it was worse.
Here goes.
My dad woke up with a terrible backache one cold winter morning in Buffalo, NY.
I wasn’t surprised.
He was 81 years old. And slept in a rocking recliner
in front of the TV for God’s sake!
He called me.
“We have to go to the doctor. My back is killing me!”
Just another day I thought. Ever since my mom died a few years earlier,
the responsibilility for taking my dad to the doctor fell to me.
It was his life now it seemed. The primary doctor. The cardiologist.
The eye doctor. The urologist. The dentist, Orthopedics. Round and round we went in a string of doctor appointments that seemed without end.
We’d throw in the emergency room periodically. Especially on weekends when he couldn’t get in to see his regular doctors.
“You should get a bone scan”, doctor said.
So we did. And an MRI as well.
“You have osteoporosis. And hairline fractures in L4”
We’ll start you on medicine for that.
“Can I still bowl?” dad asked.
“I wouldn’t advise it”, the doctor said matter of factly.
I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face.
He may as well have said, “you have cancer”.
His face showed a mix of sadness. Anger. Hopelessness.
Sure. That’s too bad I thought. But it’s just a game after all. No need to be all
gloom and doom about it.
But I was wrong.
The doctor might as well have told my dad he had terminal cancer.
Because what he said, you can’t go bowling anymore, would turn out to be a death sentence.
My dad had been a bowler ever since I can remember.
Every Friday night since I was a small kid.
I remember because his best friend’s wife and their three daughters would come over to our house every Friday while the two men went bowling. The girls were the same age as my brother and I.
We kids would all play and have fun while our moms smoked cigarettes, ate junk food, watched TV, gossiped and laughed almost endlessly.
As he got older, dad got better at bowling. He had already retired when he bowled his first 300 game.
Twice weekly he bowled in regular leagues and subbed for a third. Until he was eighty!
What I failed to realize was, bowling was more than a fun pastime for him.
It was his connection to usefulness. It was his exercise. His social time out with “the boys”.
He was always the anchor bowler on his teams. This meant he always went last. If it came down to needing 20 points to win the game, my dad would throw the two strikes needed to win. And then some.
The team needed him. They counted on him. Had confidence in him.
He felt useful. He felt needed. He was part of a team.
Once benched, in his mind he was just an old man.
No place to look forward to going each week.
A burden to his family.
Sick. Weak.
Useless.
How would he contribute?
How would he feel needed?
I’m sure he felt, but never said, “If I can’t do the one thing I love to do
then what’s the point”.
He was depressed. But I missed that part. Or at least the importance of it.
I regret that now. I would have looked for more ways he could help out
around the house once he stayed with us.
I would have given him more responsibilities. Expressed greater expectations.
“Can I help?”, he’d often say as I made dinner.
“No I got this”, I’d say.
Reinforcing his depression.
I had no idea the importance of feeling useful.
Of feeling a helpful part of something.
Of feeling you are contributing.
He was benched from bowling. He got sad.
And then he died.
Earl Nightingale, a famous Chicago radio personality from the 60’s
once stated in one of his many recordings as co-founder of the Nightingale Conant educational tapes company, “The people who live the longest are the people who have something meaningful to do”.
Meaningful is a subjective term. What’s meaningful to you may not be to me. You choose what you can do. And what makes you feel good.
Help your teammates. Help your spouse.
Volunteer at the soup kitchen or hospital.
Get a job. Teach a class.
Read a book into a microphone, then publish it on iTunes or somewhere else online.
Write and publish stories or books online.
Use your money to directly help one person overseas.
One of my favorite movies is, “The Bucket List” with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. Be a Cole or a Carter.
Call a lonely friend. Regularly. Have lunch with them, breakfast or dinner. God it’s awful to always eat alone! At least meet for coffee.
If you can do something. Anything. Do it for others. Do it WITH others.
Well, only if you want to live longer.
Need help with that? Contact me.
