Somehow He Knows (Part One)

My Dad. 

     I don't know how he knows, but somehow he does. He can't see to the end of the room, but whenever I'm doing any kind of work in the house, he somehow always manages to situate himself right in the middle of it.
     When I'm in the great room or kitchen to do anything, he knows I'm there, and, a few seconds later, so is he. I'll only walk in to fix me and my wife a cup of coffee--it'll be early in the morning, and I won't even turn on the light--and I'll see him look out of his door. There's no way for him to know I'm there, but somehow he does. I'll see him walk out and toward the main house. Sometimes I'm able to sneak back upstairs with our coffee before he makes it into the house. Sometimes...
     "Where's my coffee?" my wife will ask when I walk back into our bedroom empty-handed.
     "Um... ah... well..." I'll begin to explain.
     "Your Dad?"
     "Yeah."
     For the last three days I've been trying to dust-mop and buff the oak floor downstair. As usual, however, no sooner do I start to dust the floor, than he walks into the kitchen for his tea. And then, once he has his tea--and also proving in the process that he doesn't need my wife to make it for him--he sits himself in his favorite chair in the great room and watches TV.  Sometimes he even turns it on. These last few days it's been on, and that meant I couldn't use the buffer. It makes too much noise.
     Today, I finally get lucky, and I was able to finish dusting the floor. No Dad. He's still in his little house. I quickly grab the buffer, and just as I turn it on, guess who walks in? My Dad. Only I'm standing between him and his favorite chair. With a buffer.
     Can't he see I'm busy in here? I pretend not to see him, and begin to buff the floor. He stands there, looking at me work. He's trying to figure out his next course of action. He doesn't say anything. No "Hi, how are you?" No "Good morning." No "Get the Hell out of my way!" I can still hear him, however.
     Smack, smack, smack! "Ahhhh, well..." Big sigh, then smack, smack, smack some more.
     He finally decides what to do. Instead of coming in straight through the kitchen and into the greatroom, he takes a different route to get to his favorite chair. An immediate right, and then down the front hall.
     "Oh, my..." he says to nobody, and plops himself down in front of the TV. It's off. Again, for some reason known only to him, he doesn't bother to turn it on. He just sits there and watches a black screen. My wife will usually turn it on for him if she's around, but today she's not around. She's upstairs and keeping herself busy and out of my way. My Dad, however, was never one to take a hint.
     I've never worked harder in my life than since I've retired, and I'm hard at work now, putting a fine finish on the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. It's almost hypnotic. My music is on, but I can't even hear what song is playing because the buffer is so loud.
     But I can hear my Dad.
     "Ahhhohhh, ohhh, my..."
     I had all of the curtains closed, but somehow he still saw me. Somehow he knew I was inside. And busy. I don't know how.
     After I finish, I figure I can't pretend to not see him any longer, so I ask him:
     "Dad, do you want me to turn on the TV for you?"
     "What?"
     "Do you want me to turn on the TV for you?"
     "What?"
     "Do You Want Me To Turn On The TV For You?"
     "Do you want me to what?"
     "TURN ON THE TV FOR YOU!"
     "Don't yell at me!"
     I go upstairs.
     If it wasn't for his smacking, I would be more than happy to sit with him and watch The Price Is Right or Wheel of Fortune with him. Maybe even Everybody Loves Ramon. But no more baseball games. I'm still shell-shocked from the first year he moved in. I watched more baseball games in that one year, than all the other years of my life put together. But I wanted him to feel at home, so I watched.
     After that year, I told my wife, "Sweetie, I love my Dad, but I can't watch any more baseball." She understood. I think that's part of the reason she caters to my father more than she should.
     I return downstairs an hour or two later, and I find him still sitting in the great room. The TV off. His eyes closed. Is he asleep, or...
     I stand there quietly, and watch him for a few seconds.
     SMACK!
    All is right with the world, and I go back upstairs.
 

 

Raising My Father 

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JimDuchene.blogspot.com. American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

   

Who Feeds The Dog? I Do.

Every morning my father goes on his morning walk, rain or shine. Even the days he doesn't want to go, he'll go. Sometimes our conversations will go like this:
     "Man," he'll tell me, "I really don't feel like going on my walk this morning."
     "Why don't you take a break?" I'll ask him.
     "What?"
     "If you're not feeling good, Dad, why don't you give yourself a break today?"
     "A break from what?"
     "From your walk."
     "From my what?"
     "From your walk."
     He pauses. Thinks. Chews on the idea a bit.
     "Why would I want to do that?" he'll finally say.
     "I'm just saying, if you're not feeling good."
     "Who said I'm not feeling good?"
     "You told me that you didn't feel like going on your walk."
     "Yeah, but I didn't say I didn't feel good. I just said I didn't feel like going on my walk. That's not the same thing."
     He has a point. I guess. I just wish he wouldn't make it with a what-are-you,-nuts? look on his face.
     On occassion, he'll also go on an afternoon walk. Today, that's what he does. It's a little warm for where we live, 79 degrees and sunny. Dad goes out wearing an old t-shirt, a very old gray sweater, and old sweat pants... with a very new, state of the art pair of walking shoes that he says make his feet hurt and have shoelaces that don't work. On days when it's cold, he'll go out wearing a t-shirt and Speedos. Just kidding. He'll put on his flip-flops, too. The point is he always decides to wear the opposite of what the weather calls for. We no longer tell him when it's hot outside or cold outside or if there's an earthquake in progress. He's old enough to make his own decisions.
     He returned an hour later, and, as usual, my wife has something cold for him too drink... but not too cold. My wife is thoughtful that way.
     My Dad walks into the house, and she hands it to him. No words are exchanged. In other words, he doesn't say thank you. What he does do is take the glass and help himself to a big drink.
     "Ahhh..." he says. "Mmm..." he continues. "Oh, yeah... that was good." Still no thank you. "That hit the spot."
     I'm sure it did.
     "What kind of orange juice was that?" he asks my wife.
     "It's the Sam's brand," she tells him. "Did you like it?"
     She's expecting a positive response, especially with the enthusiasm he showed drinking it.
     "Ummm... ahhh..." my Dad hems and haws. "It's not as good as the one you used to buy."
     The one we used to buy is the exact same brand. We've bought the Sam's brand of orange juice since there've been orange trees. Well, maybe that's a bit of an exageration, but we have been getting it for a long time. At least as long as since my Dad moved in with us.
     To make a long story short, my Dad sits himself down at the table and waits to be served dinner. My wife's a good cook, but she's not our maid.
     "That's okay," my wife will tell me. "I don't mind serving him."
     "Yeah, but I mind," I tell her, or I would have told her, but why open that particular can of worms?
     After she serves my Dad she turns her attention to our grandson who happens to be spending the day with us, he's a toddler. He's a toddler, and he requires less attention from us than my Dad does. He's less fussy, that's for sure. Mainly, he likes to todddle around with a big smile on his face.
     To help her, I start to serve myself. I can see she has her hands full.
     Dad keeps eating. For an old guy, he's shoveling his food down like the guy in charge of shoveling coal into a steam train's boiler. He doesn't even look up when he tells my wife, "Don't worry about feeding my dog, I'll do it." Which is code for, "When are you going to feed my dog?"
     I look at my wife. My wife looks at me. We both notice my Dad continues eating and makes no move toward getting up to feed his dog. She shakes her head and gives me a smile before answering my father.
     "I'll feed him as soon as I'm done feeding the baby," she tells him.
     "Oh, okay" my Dad answers, "If you insist."
     "I'll get it, sweetie," I tell her, getting up. I lean closer, and whisper in her ear, "But it's gonna cost you."
     I give her a laschievious wink, and walk off to get the dogfood, which we keep in the kitchen pantry.
     "What'd he say?" my Dad asks my wife when he thinks I can't hear him.
     "He said he's going to feed your dog," she tells him.
     "No," he says, "The other thing."
     "What other thing, Dad?"
     My Dad's going to say something, but stops when I walk back into view.
     "Oh... nothing," he says.
     I know he wants to know what I whispered in my wife's ear, but he just doesn't know how to ask. So to tease him, I lean over and whisper in my wife's ear again.
     "Pretend I just said something funny," I tell her.
     "You're evil," she tells me, not quite loud enough for my Dad to hear.
     "What?" he asks. "What about the dog?" Which is code for, "Is it about me?"
     There's an old rock and roll song where the singer sings, "I love being bad, 'cause it sure feels good."
     I know exactly what he means.
    
     

Raising My Father 

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JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  

Dad's New Dog

My Dad just got himself a new dog.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!  Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!  Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     I'm upstairs, trying to watch TV.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     I look at my wife in bed next to me. She's trying to read, but she can't concentrate. The barking is driving her nuts as well, but she's trying to pretend that it doesn't.
     No getting lucky tonight.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     I finally get up, and go downstairs. I'm expecting to find the new puppy by itself, left all alone.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     Instead, I find him sitting next to my Dad.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     Barking at nothing.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     And for no reason.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     My life just keeps getting better and better.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     "Heh, heh," my Dad chuckles when he sees me, and gives me a what-can-I-do? look.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!  Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     "He likes to bark," my father explains.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! BArk! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     "Crazy dog," he says, and gives his new friend an affectionate pat on the head.

Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

     That dog better pray my Dad sticks around.
 

Raising My Father 

@JimDuchene

JimDuchene.blogspot.com

RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com