Three days ago my 91 year old father was pushing his truck out of his garage after it would not start. He moved it so it was facing to go down his driveway so that he could jump start it.
He lost his footing on the gravel and his leg slipped under the back left tire pinning his calf.
He lives by himself. He takes care of himself. He is part of the generation that beat an enemy they call Gerries and and Japs. When his generation came home from World War Two they dominated the world until Ronald Regan's term ended. Very few of them knew how to say they were EVER wrong or say they were sorry. They were tough and quiet and hated talking about themselves. When they gave back to society, it was instinctive not calculated. They made things that people used to live better lives. People who managed money then worked at banks and charged a 1% commission to buy and sell stocks. That was it. They had a hell of a time showing emotion. Rare was the father who could say that he loved his son and could hug him. Women tended to get rough treatment and a huge proportion lived lives of quiet despair.
So what does my 91 year old father do in freezing weather pinned to the driveway with no one around and no cell phone in his pocket.
Slowly but surely he pulled his leg out, walked to his kitchen, called my brother who took him to the emergency ward of the local hospital where a fine surgeon sewed him together with 100 stitches. When that was done, my brother drove him home.
91 years old.