RaisingDad

This morning my wife greeted me with a cup of coffee and a question.      "Guess what Dad found this morning?"      Let's see, what's the only thing Dad's been looking for these days?  What's the only thing Dad's been blaming everybody but himself for misplacing?  What's the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?*      "The keys the baby stole?" I ventured a guess, taking a sip of my coffee.  And then I took another one.       Ouch, it was hot...  but it kept me from laughing out loud.  I knew the baby didn't take it.  My wife knew the baby didn't take it.  The only person who didn't seem to know it was my Dad.  According to my father, his two year-old great-grandson snatched them out of his hand, stole his car, and maxed out his credit cards playing blackjack in Vegas.  Of course, I'm joking.       It was poker...

It's the same old story.  My Dad can't find his keys.  He's checked the kitchen.  The great room.  The court yard.  And, of course, his room.  Many, many times.       "Somebody's gone into my room," he'll say.  "I can tell."      "Nobody's gone into your room, Dad," I'll say.      "I can tell."      "How can you tell?"      "I just can," he'll say, and then he'll look me right in the eye.  "I don't know who, but somebody's been in my room.  And they took my keys."      I don't know why he looks at me when he says that.  Does he think it's me who sneaks into his room for no good reason to steal his keys for no good reason?  I don't know why he would.      My Dad is only two places at any given time:  he's in his room, or he's in the great room watching TV.  He can pret...