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Fluffy flakes of snow drifted lazily to the pavement as Jennifer emerged from her apartment building, suitcase in hand. Roger was anxious yet calm. He had arrived, as they arranged, at exactly 7:00 a.m. allowing 45 minutes to reach the airport.
She opened the back door of his car and placed her luggage beside his Canadian crutches.
“Good morning,” Roger beamed. “Ready for the Bahamas?”
“You bet,” Jennifer intoned with a broad, ruby red smile, tucking her blue raincoat around her hips as she slid into the passenger seat.
She was there. He was there.
“This is going to work?” Roger asked, checking one more time before putting the car into drive.
“I’m ready to go,” Jennifer confirmed. “I’m ready for some sunshine!”
“Well, then, Nassau, here we come,” Roger said more confidently, pulling out of the driveway. He recalled with satisfaction the imagination he’d mustered in proposing their arrangement.
“You got the tickets?” she asked abruptly.
Roger placed his hand over the right breast pocket of his sport coat. “Yeah, they’re here in my pocket,” he replied, affirming their agreement.
Roger had first met Jennifer in November after placing a classified ad under “companionship,” offering an all-expenses-paid week on New Kingston Island. The exchange was for her assistance, as a man with cerebral palsy, to enjoy a carefree week away from his public relations job and a drab Midwest winter.
His goal was to eliminate as much as possible the concerns he faced traveling alone — negotiating airports, preparing simple meals, trekking to and from the beach, and getting in and out of the pool.
It was an agreement based on trust, expediency, and necessity. Jennifer had written one of several letters Roger received. Despite his nervous, jumbled speech, they hit it off on the phone.
Jennifer and Roger also met for dinner before Christmas. A brunette with a round, dimpled face, she stood four inches taller than Roger’s five-foot-six-inch frame. At 26, she was mature, intuitive, and earnest.
Jennifer was a recreation director for a nursing home. She had told Roger she often heard residents regret not pursuing their dreams while they were still able.
She had grown up with three older brothers and a truck driver father. She had watched her mother patiently wait on the men in her family and promised herself she would someday marry a man who wanted a more equal partnership.
At 39, Roger had watched his mother die a slow, mean death with cancer the year before and promised himself more balance between his absorbing work week and his meager personal life.
He had drafted a letter of agreement spelling out their expectations, which they discussed over dinner. They would each have separate bedrooms. Roger was not looking for a physical or emotional relationship.
They pulled into the airport, where the traffic was grinding the thick snow into a dirty slush.
“Just think,” Jennifer gushed, “this afternoon we’ll be out of this mess and basking in the sun.”
Retrieving the last of their luggage for the sky cap, Roger suddenly heard, “Hi, Roger,” behind him. He turned to look up at a big, graying man.
“Virgil?” Roger said breathlessly, shaking his hand. “You flying out, too?”
“You bet. Florida,” Virgil chuckled.
“Virgil, this is Jennifer,” Roger managed to say. “Jennifer, this is Virgil Mann. We went to Africa together. Virgil just retired as state secretary of agriculture.”
“Hi, Virgil, I’m Roger’s traveling companion for this trip,” Jennifer replied. “We’re going to Nassau.”
“That’s great,” Virgil said hurriedly. “You both have a nice time. Got to check in.”
“We do, too,” Roger jumped in uneasily. “Have a good trip. Jennifer, you can take the tickets. I’ll park the car and meet you at the ticket counter.”
Roger parked and walked through the parking lot alone with his clanking crutches. Each step echoed and reinforced his uneasiness. “Traveling companion,” he repeated to himself. It sounded so utilitarian when Jennifer actually used those words when meeting Virgil.
Did Virgil interpret that to mean “personal care giver?” Were they both about to reinforce the stereotype that a person with a physical disability always needed a traveling companion?
Was Jennifer compromising herself by being “paid” to do for Roger what she grudgingly did for her brothers and father?
Roger came out of the parking garage and skidded his crutches gingerly across the slippery street. He desperately needed the warmth and sunshine of the Bahamas.
More than 40 years later, Roger realizes the Nassau trip was pivotal in his life and, perhaps, for Jennifer as well. At the time, they had two immediate needs in common (besides time on the beach): to learn how to safely break away from convention and to learn how to accept personal vulnerability.
Here’s to mature-adult living!
Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “52 Shades of Graying”
Weekly Stories About Aging Well
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It’s been years since I’ve led a team of people (in person for nearly 20 years and another 10 years when we were all working remotely). Either way, my leadership skills were challenged – particularly because I often appeared vulnerable because I walked and talked with difficulty due to cerebral palsy.
But here is what I recall emphasizing during the quarterly performance reviews I conducted with each of the people on my staff in person during the 1980s as well as the at-home contract workers I managed during the first decade of the 21st century.
"I will only say good things about you to others.
"If you have a problem with the way I manage this department, I expect you to tell me and not others so we can fix it together. Just as I review your performance on a regular basis, I expect feedback from you regularly about how we can improve our working relationship."
It was a two-way accountability contract. Most of my teammates took me up on this approach. And we had fun working together.
* When have you taken a personal risk that revealed your vulnerability but ultimately proved to be worthwhile?