Steve Glickman
speaker
24 appearances
2 recordings
1 series
first heard Dec 2024
last heard Feb 2025
Steve Glickman’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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Around a year ago, I moved back in with my parents. The occasion was that my mom had a nervous breakdown. because she was overwhelmed caring for my dad who has dementia. Family crisis, gay son with no kids to the rescue. That's me. My parents live in the suburbs about an hour from where I live in the city with my partner Mark. I pack a bag and I move into their spare bedroom.
That first night was weird. Lying on their futon, staring at the ceiling, I wondered, How did they get so old? And how long can I do this for? Like, I love my parents, but they can drive me crazy sometimes. Living with them, I quickly see how bad my dad's dementia has become. His short-term memory is shot. He can't remember what day it is.
He can't remember what he had for lunch or if he had lunch. He wanders off and gets lost. He needs constant supervision. He still remembers my name, and he's great at Jeopardy, but I can see why my mom lost it. So I try to help out where I can. I pay their bills. I give them their pills. I watch over my dad during the day while I'm working.
But I have a full-time job and it becomes pretty clear that I can't do nearly enough. And I start to think that sending my dad to a memory care facility might be the best option. One morning, I'm having coffee in the kitchen and my mom walks in. It's 11 a.m., they always get up late. I ask her why they don't get up any earlier, and she says, that's our sexy time.
Your father gets very frisky in the morning. I say, wow. That's excellent. Every morning? She says, every morning. Then she laughs like a teenage girl. She's 85. Give it up for my mom. Yeah. It's impressive, right? A little envious, actually. Mark and I don't have sex every day. Not even close. And we're gay men. My dad is 90. So in context, it's not all that surprising.
My parents have always liked their sexy time. We were a sexually liberated family. When I was five years old, I asked my parents, where do babies come from? And they told me right then and there exactly how babies are made. I said, Wow, can I watch the next time you make a baby? My dad said, no, that's a private thing between me and mommy. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't let me watch.
But when I got a bit older, I knew they always tried to make a baby on Sunday afternoons. They would lock the door to their bedroom, but I could hear my mom moaning because I was right outside. Anyhoo, the next time that we go visit their doctor, my mom mentions sexy time because she's all about transparency. And the doctor says that hypersexuality is actually a symptom of Alzheimer's.
My mom looks down at the floor. We had been using the word dementia for years and my mom thought dementia meant the ordinary forgetfulness that comes with old age. But Alzheimer's was something entirely different. My mom looks at the doctor and she says, you don't know he has Alzheimer's. There is no test. The doctor says he has all the symptoms.
You're right, there is no definitive test, but he has it. My mom shakes her head. She can't accept it. But Alzheimer's are not. My parents enjoy their sexy time. And I realize that if I move my dad into a memory care facility, then I would be breaking them up. My parents have shared the same bed for 60 years. And they fought like cats and dogs for most of those years.
But they always made up, usually in bed. And if I send that away, it will kill them. So I start looking for in-home caretakers. I interviewed a few. We hired one, but she didn't work out. And at this point, I'd been living with them for three months, and I was going a little bit crazy. I love my parents, but I needed my life back. Then we hired Kelsey.
On her first day, my dad tells her to leave, and then he yells at me, I don't need any help. I'm fine. People with Alzheimer's have no idea how much help they need. Kelsey smiles at me and she says, it's all right. This is normal for day one. In a week, My parents had accepted Kelsey, and in a month, they fell in love with her. I moved out, and I reclaimed my life and my sanity.
It's been a year now, and Kelsey is a part of our family. I'm glad I was able to keep my parents together. They can have their sexy time whenever they want. And you know what? I don't need to watch. Thank you.
It's Christmas Eve in 2005, and I am packed and ready to go to Puerto Vallarta. My flight leaves in 12 hours, and I cannot wait to get out of Chicago. It's been an awful year. I broke up with my boyfriend of seven years and I've been living in a fog. Months of therapy, sleepless nights, just the worst year ever. But somehow I made it to Christmas Eve And I am ready to reboot my life starting now.
I cannot wait to get to that beautiful beach in Puerto Vallarta and order a pina colada served out of a coconut and kiss this awful year goodbye. I'm packed and ready to go. All I need is my passport. I look in my desk drawer, not there. I look in my file cabinet, not there. I look in my bedroom closet, my dresser, the kitchen cabinets, not there. Where the fuck is my passport? Then I panic.
I ransack my apartment, going from room to room, emptying every drawer, every closet, every cabinet, and I throw its contents on the floor where I can see it all clearly. I get down on my hands and knees and I'm sifting through the piles of stuff like a crazed burglar. And after I've turned my apartment upside down for hours, nothing. Where the fuck is my passport?
It's after midnight and I'm exhausted. Sitting on my bedroom floor, staring at all the piles of junk, I say to myself out loud, as calmly as possible, I've lost my passport. I've looked everywhere I know of, but it's gone. I am not going to Puerto Vallarta for Christmas. And then I cry. The next morning, I make a pot of coffee and I contemplate how I might spend Christmas week in Chicago.
I can't visit my family, they're not in town. I can't visit my friends because they all think I'm in Puerto Vallarta. And that's what I want them to think. I boasted to everyone that I was gonna spend Christmas week on the beach in Mexico, and they could all have their white Christmas in Chicago. I told my coworkers. I told my volleyball team.
I told George, the star hitter on my volleyball team, who is a dreamboat and who I have a crush on. I can't fathom telling them I lost my passport. I will never hear the end of it. I feel like the biggest loser ever. I just can't catch a break. And then I get an idea. I hide out in my apartment all week long. I spend my time watching movies and reading Mexico travel blogs.
When I leave the apartment, I wear sunglasses and a hoodie because I'm incognito. And I leave for only two reasons. To go to the grocery store or to the tanning salon. I love the tanning salon. I love lying on the tanning bed in my Speedo, grooving to my playlist, surrounded by the gentle warmth and humming of the UV lights as they slowly cook my skin to a deep golden brown.
And when I close my eyes, it feels just like I'm lying on that beautiful beach in Puerto Vallarta. The first week in January we have volleyball practice and I show up at the gym armed with a deep tan and stories from the Mexico travel blogs. I scan the gym from my team, and then I spot Dreamboat George.
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