In developing a better marketing approach it is important to understand social behavior and its influences. Social behavior affects us from the minute we are born to the day that we pass away. Many times through out my life I have had the opportunity to share the experience of growing old with the people around me. When I was 12 years old my aunt worked at a nursing home. She had mentioned that they were always looking for volunteers, so that year I decided to volunteer my time. Being that I was only 12 I was not prepared for what was to follow for the next 4 months. Everyday I would bike from my home which was on one side of a mountain to the town of Franconia on the other side of the mountain. No matter which route you took it was a 15 mile bike push up an 85 degree incline both too and from each destination. The enjoyable part was the ride back down on either side.
When I started my volunteer work I was informed that there was no physical therapy and recreation director and was asked if I would like to be in charge of those for the summer. Yes, at 12 years old I had my first job, one that normally would have required someone with their bachelors degree in that field but what is it they say about ignorance is bliss. I wasn't frightened at all. I was exposed to many strange things for a 12 year old to be around on her summer vacation from school, such as helping the understaffed nurses assist someone with bathing or making their way in and out of the bathroom. The only frightening event was when a woman who had to be strapped to her wheel chair begged for me to let her out. “Please let me out I'm going to die tonight and I just want to spend my last moments free and out of this wheel chair.” I begged with the nurses in charge to release her, didn't they know she was going to die. No one should die like that. I was told that she would run away and injure herself if she was untied. I remember waking up extra early and racing the almost endless ride to my job the next day only to find that indeed the nurse was right after all. The woman had not died and again that day began begging me to release her. She did escape one day, they found her naked on the highway trying to hitch a ride to see her husband who had died several years earlier. I was so young and the reaction of the staff treating these items as just an everyday event gave me no reason to grimace or wince at these insane and often times disgusting events. This was just the way with growing older. My friends would meet me at the end of my day so that we could bike to the store for a snack and a cold drink and if there was time another 5 mile bike ride to the Franconia Inn to swim in the pool that the owners so graciously allowed us to use for free. If there was not time a quick jump in the river would do before I began my long bike ride home. They would ask how my day was and my reply was always ok. For some reason I never once talked about what happened during my days there. They had been to the home on holidays but their picture of friendly sane elderly people listening to children sing Christmas Carols was completely different from my day to day experiences down the long cold sterile halls. I never once thought that they would be interested in listening to the stories about working in a leather tanning shop back in 1902 or the thrill of buying a first pair of real nylons. On a good ride home I could take the west route which was longer but gave hope to the chance that my father might be coming home and pick me up along the way. On a bad day I would have to push my bike up the two mile incline. I was so young and strong. The effects of age that I witnessed during the day were simply odd events that happened to those people whose families had forgotten them. My father who I adored was the strongest man in the world a patient, amazing, intelligent hero who knew how to make every situation better. I never thought back then about him growing older he would never be like those people.
When I was 14 my mother's headaches developed into a seizure disorder. Even now studies are new and inconclusive on the condition she has. Back then they were a mystery and the seizure medicine was ineffective and came with tremendous side affects. I would often come home from school to find my mother lying on her bed feeling a seizure coming on and laying in agony with a head ache that would completely disable her. They later found out that the florescent lights that she worked under all day were the major cause that triggered these seizures. I don't know why but I hated taking care of her. Perhaps it was the fact the sun was inviting as she would make me run up and down the stairs or back and forth to the bathroom for drinks or warm washcloths. I now wonder if it was the simple fact that she was my mother and never having been the type of mother to cuddle a sick child why should I labor so over her. Why at age 13, 14 and 15 should I have to care for my mother. It was enough that I was working to buy groceries, cleaning the house, mowing the lawn, dusting, cooking and all the other items that were left up to us. Did we have to care for her too? For some reason with all that I could do for strangers I hated doing it for my mother.
