I am posting an excerpt from His Name Is Tony. This is a favourite story of mine.
Alzheimer’s people can be cunning, crafty, especially In the early stages as it’s easier to cover it up. And my father had his own way dealing with such a situation. He had the proper tools. And a McMahon can bullshit eloquently.
One day in town when Dad and I were walking down William Street we met a man who I didn’t recognise but he
Nameless bloke: “Jaysus, long time no see!” He’d pump Dad’s hand with a strong shake. How’s it goin’ Tone?”
"Ah divilabit. And yourself?"
We left Nameless Bloke go on and on for ages, Dad, all the while listing, smiling and me trying to hide a smirk. I’d seen this before.
After the two men said their goodbyes, I waited a moment before asking.
“Who was that you were talking to you?”
He beamed. “Haven’t a feckin clue.”
From His Name is Tony by Rachel McMahon