Elmer is finally launched at 50.
Elmer, my developmentally disabled brother-in-law (see my Elmer stories), has settled into a group home in Boulder. After being on the waiting list since 1993, Elmer finally secured a spot. My husband Tom and I can’t afford Boulder but apparently Elmer can, and we're jealous.
The transition to the group home has gone remarkably well. We get fewer panicky phone calls from Elmer. Now that we have caller ID, we can screen Elmer's calls when we don’t have the energy to deal with him. The calls from bike stores demanding payment for bicycles that Elmer ordered, have come to a halt.
We sometimes pick Elmer up for breakfast on a weekend morning, enjoy his company for a couple of hours, and return him to his group home that is supervised by energetic staff that rotates every eight hours.
Elmer and his family have a lot to be grateful for this Thanksgiving. But after spending six hours with him on Thanksgiving, our past frustrations with Elmer surfaced. Perhaps we should set a two hour Elmer-limit.
Over a dinner table of family and friends, we observed Elmer skillfully steer every conversation back to himself and his upcoming 50th birthday in a couple of weeks. He proceeded to describe his "Uncle Tom" (Elmer’s name for his brother) as an “old fart” who would soon be celebrating his 60th birthday. By the end of the day, it would be an understatement to say that Tom and I felt like strangling him.
After spending Thanksgiving with Elmer, we calmed ourselves with clichés such as:
Some things never change.
A zebra never loses its stripes.
Elmer will always be Elmer.
What if this is as good as it gets?
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