Remembering what was is not a bad thing

Sergeant Shriver died the other day at age 95. He was an honorable fellow who took on many unpleasant but noble government-type duties in the 1960s and 1970s. President Kennedy tapped him to start and run the Peace Corps. He did great work for President Johnson, too. Later, he ran for Vice President. All in all, a very good man.

For the last several years of his life, he battled Alzheimer's disease. Understandably, on the few occasions he was seen in public, he didn't look anything like the handsome man I remembered as a kid. I shuddered when I saw those pictures.

The other day, most of the pics ran in accordance with stories about his life, were from the 1960s and 1970s. But one network (I can't remember which) ran a terrible shot taken a few years ago. His hair was messy and he looked confused. It is, sadly, what often happens with patients who suffer from Alzheimer's. I had that old feeling. Wy do this to a good man? Did we really need to see this picture? Of the literally thousands of pictures of this public man, what was gained by running one that showed him in a less than complimentary light.

A year ago, Lynne and I were in California for a few days. One morning, we drove up to see an old woman who was a longtime friend of Lynne's family. She lived by herself near Yucaipa. She seemed to be doing okay for a woman of her age. We had a wonderful visit. I asked Lynne if she wanted to take a picture with the woman to bring home to show to her sisters. Lynne sighed and said no. She had a good picture of her already that she was taking home with her. The woman we were looking at now was not the woman she knew as a kid. She preferred to remember her that way.

It was a kind and thoughtful gesture. We are entitled to remember things our way.

The fact is we will grow older. We will not look as good as we did when were younger. Fine. But we are also entitled to our dignity. And when (or if) the time comes when we don't look so good, well. we can only hope folks with cameras will be judicious in their choices of pictures.

In my mind's eye, for example, Rocky Colavito, a terrific ballplayer for Detroit in the 1960s, will always be a sleek fellow with a full head of coal black hair who had a great arm and swung a solid bat. He will always be 30 years old.

Colavito is now 77 years old. A little part of me would love to sit and talk with him about his days in Detroit (and Cleveland). However, another part of me has no desire to see a current picture of him ... or worse, see him in person. I am afraid to discover he has a pot belly, is bald and wears coke-type glasses.

If so, it would be too heartbreaking to know.

Like my wife wishes to remember her old family friend, I want the Colavito in my mind's eye.

Anybody think that is a bad thing?