In olden times, my bad eyesight would have been fatal. But I live in an era where optometry keeps me from going completely blind by correcting my vision with glasses and contacts. Even so, I am not able to forage for food. But people gather it for me and store it in buildings all over town where I can quickly pick it up or consume it. Or they will deliver it to me. Which is good because I have discovered why old people drive dangerously slow, especially at night when everything is black except for glaring and flashing lights. We cannot see anything. I have witnessed the struggles of both customer and server when an aging person struggles to order. So long ago, I told my wife and sons to order for me in restaurants when my mental capacity diminishes. They know what I like. But now when I ask a waiter to repeat the salad dressing choices, my son will interrupt: “He’ll have the Italian.” I have to keep reminding him, “Not yet, Ryan. Not yet.” And I am getting really nervous after overhearing my boys joke about the bizarre things they plan to order for me when the time does come.