Growing up in San Francisco, the sidewalk was the gathering place and playground for neighborhood kids on a summer evening. I would like to say a warm summer evening, but in the City that wasn’t usually the case. More often than not great rolls of billowing fog tumbled over the tops of Twin Peaks cooling what was left of a pleasant day, but we didn’t mind. Living four blocks east from the base of those famous hills, my sister and I tossed on a sweater as our mother had instructed, which was quickly removed and discarded into a pile as the out-of-doors games began: “Kick The Can,” “Hide and Go Seek,” “Tag, You’re It,” naming only a few, and one of my favorites, “Mother May I?”
I have often wondered if its origin came from a frustrated school teacher in an effort to educate the players about the difference between “may” and “can;” permission and ability. Wherever it began didn’t really matter, “Mother May I?” was fun and if we learned a bit of correct English along the way, it was a bonus. With the mother in control, and controlling she or he was, everyone else was a child, all standing 20 or 30 feet apart form the mother. A line, imaginary or real was established as start and finish with all the children equally spaced on that line. One by one the mother would call each player by name giving an instruction, and then wait for a response to her command: “Take one giant step forward,” “Take three steps back,” “Jump forward on one foot four times and turn around.” Any instruction mother dictated, the player was obliged to do. Before setting forth, though, the player had to remember to always ask, “Mother May I?” The mother then responded to the polite request with, “Yes, you may.” However, the mother could be mean and say, “No, you may not,” and proceed to the next player. If the player stepped forward without asking permission, she/he had to go back to the beginning and start all over. The winner, of course, was the one who remembered the magic phrase, resulting in reaching the mother and then returning to the finish line first. The winner became the new mother. Kids’ games; silly but fun, and pleasant to remember.
Alzheimer’s patients can be very territorial, not only with the house, their room, the car, the newspaper, the mail, or a worthless used napkin. The list, actually, is endless. Their life is extremely guarded as is their space. After several years of living with Ken’s AD, I have found the relationship we share is seldom that of husband and wife. If for a brief time, my husband is present, he can disappear in mid-sentence, or in mid-action. Early on Ken was sweeping the kitchen floor — and it was Ken who took out the broom. I called over and asked him if, after he finished, he would do something else for me. I don’t even recall what it was, but in an instant he stopped sweeping and armed with broom and dustpan, he stormed over to where I was and growled, “Stop telling me what to do!” When he becomes threatening, I match his threat in no uncertain terms, which usually ends in a standoff. Had I been more astute at that time I could have, possibly, averted his outburst.
Over the years I have learned to be more sensitive to his personality changes and his territorial domain, which is so much a part of being respectful to him as a person. I have also rekindled the phrase of an old childhood game. While I don’t say, “Mother, May I?” I do approach him slowly and ask, “May I….?” If I approach too quickly and reach out to straighten his collar or button a button on his shirt, I may get my hand shoved away, and through gritted teeth he will warn, “Get away from me.” I have long since stopped being hurt by these actions and remarks because I know this person is not the man I married. More than likely, he feels like a trapped and frightened animal, fearful of me and my actions, no matter how well-meant. But I have noticed that if I approach with caution and gently ask permission, using the magic phrase, “May I help you close the blinds?” “May I straighten your collar?” “May I button that one button on your shirt?” or “May I sit next to you on the couch?” and then wait for him to respond. At times he says, “No,” or “No, thank you,” but other times, if he’s comfortable and not threatened, he will say, “Yes, you may.”
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