Three elderly men sat side by side in a doctor’s office, waiting for a routine memory test. They’d been friends for decades—coffee every week, the same jokes, the same complaints about aching knees and vanishing glasses.
The doctor entered with a clipboard.
“Gentlemen, this will be simple. Just answer the questions.”
He turned to the first man.
“What is three times three?”
The man stared at the ceiling, tapped his cane, and said confidently,
“Two hundred and seventy-four.”
The doctor paused, then made a note.
He turned to the second man.
“And you—what is three times three?”
“Tuesday,” the man replied without hesitation.
The doctor rubbed his temples and sighed.
Finally, he faced the third man.
“What is three times three?”
The man straightened up, smiled, and said,
“Nine.”
The doctor beamed. “Excellent!”
The third man leaned forward and whispered,
“I knew it had to be one of them.”
The room erupted with laughter. The nurse laughed. The doctor laughed. Even the first two men laughed—though neither was quite sure why.
Afterward, they crossed the street to their usual coffee shop.
“I think I did great,” the first man said.
“You said 274,” the second reminded him.
“Yes,” he replied. “But I said it with confidence.”
They laughed again, uncaring who heard.
Later, the doctor wrote a note in the chart: Strong coping skills through humor and friendship.
He realized something important—memory may fade, but personality doesn’t.
Growing older isn’t just about forgetting things.
It’s about choosing joy anyway.
And sometimes, the best medicine isn’t the right answer—
it’s laughing together when everything goes a little wrong.
