If you live 'till 90, well, you're entitled to yelling "back in my day" at the top of your lungs, as if the past is the only thing which matters. Grandpa would always shout that out, even if the conversation didn't pertain to anything which could benefit from a life story, or an insight into life, or telling us what he used to do.
   The problem with him being old is that you would always have to go to his room in the care center and there is nobody to come by and save you. You couldn't get away from the stories, and, with his mind starting to go, the tall tales of his childhood.
   He spun tales on every subject, from catching frogs down by the river and running faster than the fastest car of his day, to defying death.
  "Back in my day, we didn't have these defribilardors or anything like that. When I died all those years ago, I fought back to life thrice with no damned help from 'technology.' I wonder if any kids these days could do that!"
Grandma sat by him and told him not to exaggerate and to say that the doctor had to use a defibrillator on him just the day before.
"Well, if you done it, it ain't bragging."

He smiled, had a heart attack, and died.