Old and Young.

This evening, I sat at the kitchen table with my youngest son, who is 22 months old. Also at the table was one of his Grandmas--my dad's wife Becky--and her own mother, Granny, who is living with some stage of demensia, possibly Alzheimers disease. Three of the four of us were coloring with crayons.

I watched my son use his crayon in mad fashion all over the page and, occasionally, I helped him out. And Becky was trying to get Granny interested in the project. Becky used a pink crayon on the page and handed the crayon to Granny and asked her to color also. Granny tried for many minutes to figure out what to do with the crayon. She was frustrated with this project.

After Becky demonstrated the process several times, and repeatedly handed the crayon to her mother saying "color," Granny finally took the crayon and tried to spell the word "color" on the page.

I was struck by how similar--and how different--my and Becky's lives must be at this point. We both spend a big part of our days teaching, instructing, encouraging and physically helping someone along. But while I can look forward to my own children picking up new skills and becoming more and more independent, Becky is likely to see the opposite effect. She spends a majority of her day physically caring for her own mother, who now is living in a convalescent home in which she does not receive much, if any, individual attention or care.

Last month's bill for Granny's shared room in the convalescent center was more than $5,200. Something is very wrong with this system.