Preying

March 7, 2005

I am convinced that there is a special place in hell for people who take advantage of the elderly. All kinds of mean people in this world abuse children, animals, and the mentally and physically disabled. However, predators who target old people are often overlooked, because we are reluctant to admit that our once vibrant parent can no longer distinguish between a kiwi and a kumquat.

Telemarketers have created an industry selling magazines and vacuum cleaners to old people who cannot possibly read 100 subscriptions a month. And whose mother really needs three brand new vacuums?

Several companies sell organic cures to the elderly. Every possible ailment from constipation to memory loss, from baldness to impotence can be cured by products from these companies. Although I am not exactly worldly, I did not just get off the turnip truck. I do find it unseemly for my 84 year old father to be inundated with brochures advertising, in language generally found in an X-rated movie, all the various things he will be able to do after taking “the cure.” So far, he has taken garlic (and garlique), gingko biloba, shark cartilage, bee pollen, and horny goat weed in his quest for eternal youth.

Regardless of your opinion of Paul Harvey, you must admit that the man hawks everything under the sun. Convincing people over 80 that a memory improvement pill can really do the job is stretching the ethical basis of truth in advertising. And it comes with a video tape! This miracle was purchased by my dad who has never owned a VCR and didn’t remember writing the check.

My dad believes every nut case that comes his way. At one time he was rubbing apple cider vinegar on his head to cure dandruff. The entire house smelled like he had been dying Easter eggs. For gastric dysfunction, he ate eight golden raisins soaked in gin. He was probably more interested in the gin than in alleviating gas.

Someone gave him foolproof techniques for keeping the squirrels out of his pecan tree. When an assortment of rubber snakes and owls did not convince the critters of the folly of their ways, he tried filling the legs of pantyhose with moth balls. This wasn’t too bad until he tied the pantyhose to the tree, crotch side toward the street. Now he has sheets of tin wrapped around the tree in hopes that the squirrels will slip and cut their throats.

Out of the goodness of his heart, he responded to a couple of mail requests for contributions to causes that he considered worthy. The scoundrels then sold his name to every fundraiser in America. Before it was over, he was sending money to eradicate diseases that we had never heard of. And good Methodist that he is, he was unwittingly supporting charities sponsored by every religion except Wicca.

Daddy’s desire to help those in need has morphed into the equivalent of feeding stray cats. One woman was selling him sacks of home-cooked meals for $25-$50. I tossed the fine dining before he succumbed to food poisoning. While her pimp waited in the alley, a crack head demanded money for “medicine.” After she got pregnant, her sob story was that she needed money for the baby. I explained that if the baby wasn’t his, it wasn’t his problem. He nearly fainted at the thought.

I firmly believe that everyone should have a job that they love-one that provides a feeling of accomplishment and a reasonable financial reward. However, I abhor the slime balls that find satisfaction in conning the elderly and get rich in the process.

Deciding exactly who is doing the preying is subjective. My brother overheard Daddy tell a friend that I sold his car, took the money and his checkbook, and moved to Georgia.