That's because I do.
I don't have a lot of bad habits, but if drinking coffee's a bad habit, then that's one of them. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't do drugs. But put a cup of coffee in front of me, and I'll make it disappear like my paycheck in the hands of my ex-wife.
So, after dinner the next day, my wife serves me a cup of coffee. I sit at the table. I look at the patio. I look at my wife. She looks at my Dad and asks him, "Would you like some ice cream before we go outside?"
"Uh..." he said. He was trying to be polite.
My wife cuts him off at the pass.
"It's new ice cream," she tells him. I look up from my cup. I didn't know my wife had gone out to get any ice cream.
"What?"
"It's new ice cream."
"What kind of ice cream is it?"
"It's new."
"New?"
"Yes, new."
Now, before you think my dad's a senile old coot, let me assure you, he isn't. It just takes him awhile for the point to sink in. It may be because of some hearing loss due to old age. Or it may be that nothing we say is of any interest to him. Or he may just be yanking our chain and fooling with us. Or it may be because he has a relaxed brain that's worked hard most of its life, and, now that it's retired along with his body, it would rather be soaking up rays on the beaches of Miami, checking out the itsied-bitsied, teenied-weenied, yellow polka-dot bikinied babes.
Or maybe that's something I'd like to do.
I get confused.
My dad, on the other hand, doesn't.
Every month, when his bank statements come in, he goes over them line by line, looking for any kind of a discrepancy. All of his investments, all of his savings, all of his expenditures... he's right on top of them. It drives the people at the bank nuts.
On the other hand, it does give my dad a social life.
"Sure," my Dad says, referring to my wife's offer of ice cream, "I'll give it a shot. It can't be any worse than what you gave me yesterday. But just give me a little. You always give me too much."
So my wife goes over to the freezer, and takes out the same container of ice cream she had used the day before. She gets his favorite bowl, and serves him... just a little.
He gingerly takes a spoonful.
"Hey!" he says, with enthusiasm, "now this is what I was talking about! You can give me a little more."
My wife looks at me, and our eyes meet. We're both smiling. She takes his bowl, and serves him a couple more scoops of vanilla ice cream.
As she puts it down in front of him, he says, "Where'd you get this ice cream? It's good." Smack, smack. "I like the flavor." Smack, smack. "Much better than yesterday's ice cream."
Smack!
"Your son bought it."
"Who bought it?"
"Your son."
"My son?"
"Yes, your son. He went to Ralph's this morning." Ralph's is a large grocery store chain, along the lines of Safeway, Albertson's, or the Piggly-Wiggly. "He went to the store to get you this ice cream, because you didn't like the one from Costco."
"Yeah, that one from Costco wasn't very good," he said. Then his voice soften, and he shook his head a bit. "My son bought me this ice cream?"
I guess he couldn't believe it.
"Yes, he went to Ralph's this morning, and bought this ice cream."
Smack, smack. "Yeah... hmmm... good ice cream." Smack, smack. "I can tell the difference right away. This is better ice cream." Smack, smack. "Yep, this is good."
"I'm glad you liked it, dad," my wife told him, and put the container of Costco ice cream back in the freezer. That's why I love my wife. Because she's smart. She thinks on her feet.
And she gives me all the credit.
As my Dad finished up the last of the "good" vanilla ice cream in his bowl, he drops the spoon into the bowl, and makes a final smacking sound.
"There weren't any other flavors?" he asked.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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