My grandfather moved into a retirement community at the age of 93. Before doing so, he passed his annual driving test, probably just to show us that he could. A week or two later, he sold his car and gave up driving completely. It was his choice.
And just to show us that he had a sense of humor about the whole thing, he once gave me a folded, photocopied page with the following joke on it:
A group of seniors were sitting around talking about all their ailments.
“My arms have gotten so weak I can hardly lift this cup of coffee,” said one.
“Yes, I know,” said another. “My cataracts are so bad, I can’t even see my coffee.”
“I couldn’t even mark an ‘X’ at election time, my hands are so crippled,” volunteered a third.
“What? Speak up! I can’t hear you!” said another.
“I can’t turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck,” said one woman.
“My blood pressure pills make me so dizzy!” exclaimed another.
“I forget where I am—and where I’m going!” another admitted.
“I guess that’s the price we pay for getting old,” winced an old woman as she slowly shook his head.
The others nodded in agreement.
“Well, count your blessings,” said an old man. “At least we can all still drive!”