I have moderate arthritis in my right hip. I hasten to say it is not the ravage of age, but the result of “an old athletic injury.” The one time after high school when I played volleyball, I was clobbered by a larger team-mate going for the ball I had called. That was at a company picnic nearly 25 years ago, and over the years, my hip has degenerated (along with my enthusiasm for athletic conviviality).
As a result, I now use a cane. I bought it at Shopper’s Drug Mart. It is black, has nifty “brass” fittings for adjusting the length and a sporty handle. I have resisted the temptation to put my name and address on it with sticky tape or to tie a ribbon to it to identify it from a distance. To my eyes, it is a dashing as well as helpful accessory.
So far, I have not permanently misplaced it, but store clerks have reminded me when I have left it behind. I appreciate this. But there have been other more unexpected consequences — especially when I ride on public transit.
Now when I take the train, no more standing in line for me and my aching hip; I receive pre-boarding no questions asked. Sometimes upon seeing me and my cane, Via Rail personnel even call me “dear” and offer me the use of the elevator. When I get where I’m going, the conductor frequently offers his hand as I clamber down the steps. I take it. I feel it does most men good to feel useful (in an unencumbered way), and I avoid pitching headfirst onto the pavement.
But riding the TTC has been the biggest eye-opener. Normally, Torontonians do not give up their seats. Oblivious to those less agile, they sleep, or fix their attention on the latest bestseller, the commuter newspaper or the floor. Despite those guilt-inducing public address announcements, they ignore the pregnant and elderly. But to my surprise, now that I ride the subway using my cane, people not only notice, they react.
I have had several young men rise and offer me their seat. Sometimes I am all right standing, but not often, and in any event, such gallantry should be encouraged, and I am happy to help. They are bashful. It’s quite sweet.
My encounters with women have been a bit more complicated. In one case, I happily accepted the offer of a seat from a strapping young woman, a Bay Street beauty with a fashionably draped scarf, sensible shoes and a Blackberry. Too late, as I made eye contact with her mid-section, I realized that she was probably about four months’ pregnant and might have appreciated the seat herself. Or was she merely plump? Fortunately she got off two stops later, thereby relieving me of that moral dilemma.
Just yesterday, I was packed with the other transit sardines in the first car of a subway train which had been delayed and took on more passengers than necessary. When it finally left the station, I was standing about half an inch away from a very affectionate pair of women. The taller of the two was a ringer for Jennifer Jones, and her partner had very short hair with lightning stripes shaved above her ears. Trying to find somewhere else to look, I squelched the thought that the latter ought to be have been taller. The stereotype was unworthy of me and probably irrelevant, given the apparent nature of their relationship.
Thus, alone with my questionable thoughts, I became aware of Jennifer Jones looking at me with riveting concern and asking a bit too loudly if I wanted to sit down. I said it was all right, I didn’t mind standing. Undaunted, she continued with fervour, “Because if you want a seat, I’d be happy to ask someone to give theirs up for you.”
By now fully alert, I again declined her offer, but I did thank her earnestly for making it. Idealism in the young ought to be encouraged. Then I oozed closer to the front of the car where I feigned interest in the next station and wondered why I attract this attention.
Do I appeal to some primal desire to protect the weak and fragile? Likely not, as Torontonians’ primal desires don’t seem to run along those lines, at least not on the TTC. Maybe there is an implied threat offered by someone with a cane, especially a dandy cane like mine. Do people see my cane as a potential weapon? Or do people simply fear I might topple over and land on them? It is a mystery.
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