Almost exactly three decades ago I came up with an ode to senility that struck me as farsighted back then (“Senility Beckons,” October 15, 1995). My father was suffering from it at the time, and I did my best to see the reverse side of it. Or to see it positively in common parlance. Indeed, it is a shield from reality that surpasses all others. But I must have thought also of myself, rather than of my father only. And I am seventy-nine already. For better or worse, I seem to be following in the footsteps of my mother, who remained free from senility till her death. Actually, a few weeks before her final hour, when she went out of control. Looking back, I cannot but wonder whether senility still beckons in my own case. Luckily for me, though, I have come up with my own shield from reality—abandoning thought at will and remaining free from it for as long as I wish (“No-Bullshit Enlightenment,” January 18, 2016). But it may well be that these two shields have much in common, and that I have learned a great deal from my poor father.