Several years into my father’s journey down the narrowing road of Alzheimer’s, when he was still going out for walks, I looped my arm through his one afternoon and walked with him along a leafy street near my parents’ home. A few people recognized him, waved and called out, “Hello, Mr. President” and “God bless you.” He smiled and waved back. Then he looked at me, confused, and asked, “Do I know them?”
No, Dad, I said. “They recognized you and wanted to say hello.” He looked even more perplexed. “But how do they know me?”
I already knew his memory of being President had been extinguished. He remembered ice skating as a boy and swimming in the Rock River in summer but not his impact on the country and the world. I didn’t want to add to his confusion. “They’ve seen you walking here,” I told him. He smiled, and his eyes lit up. “That’s very sweet of them,” he said. “They’re nice people.”
