When I was a Senior in high school, and prone to staying out late on a Friday or Saturday night, my Dad would always make it a point to get me up early the next day.
"Why do I need to get up early?" I'd ask him.
"Because everything has a price," he'd tell me.
I'm sure he was trying to teach me something, but it was something I didn't want to learn, so, after a few early mornings of me getting up to do nothing but learn a lesson, the only lesson I learned was that if I got out of bed so he could see me, and then, when he went inside, immediately laid down on the floor of the far side of my bed, the side facing away from my bedroom door, so that he couldn't see me, then I could happily spend the rest of the morning in dreamland.
Happily, that is, until he discovered what I was doing. My snoring gave me away.
As a kid, I was forever forgetting to close doors, cabinets, drawers. I'd open the refrigerator, and stand there trying to decide what to eat.
"Close the door!" my father would yell at me. "You're letting out all the cold!"
And I'd close the door. And the cold would be safe. At least until I was hungry again.
It was the same with the back door. I'd open it, go outside to do what I had to do, such as pick up dog poop in the backyard, and would leave the door wide open. Why? I can only guess that it was the logical thing for me to do. Why spend the energy opening the door twice?
"Close the door!" my father would yell at me. "You're letting out all the heat!"
It almost seemed that he'd follow me around telling me to close everything I opened. Like I said, I was pretty rambunctious, which is another way of saying I just plain didn't listen.
Cut to the present. I've been noticing that the heater to my father's in-law house is always on. It's on during the night. It's on during the day. It's on when he's in his house. And it's on when he's in mine. I keep hearing his heater kicking on, and I keep seeing my dollars being wasted.
A few weeks ago we were having all the windows to the house cleaned. My Dad's little house, too. So I had to go into his room to move the furniture away from the windows and open all the drapes. As I get to the first window I notice that the drapes are closed, but the window is wide open. The bathroom window is wide open, too. In fact, all his windows are open. Some just a crack, but open nonetheless.
Now I understand why his heater is always on.
"Close the windows!" I want to yell at my Dad. "You're letting out all the heat!"
And I almost laugh to myself over how our roles have switched.
Along with the heater always being on, my Dad also uses an electric blanket for his naps and sleeping at night. My father doesn't see or pay the electric bill, so he cranks it up.
Cut to today. I had to leave town for a few days, and, when I came back, it was cloudy. Cool. Almost cold. It's raining. The air is fresh and sweet. I love this kind of weather, so for me it's a perfect day.
I go upstairs to drop off my luggage. Take a shower, change, and head back downstairs for breakfast.
All the windows are closed. The doors are closed, too. Locked tight.
My Dad is sitting in his usual chair at the head of the table. Well, it's his usual chair when he beats me to it. He's eating a big breakfast. He usually does. He's wearing his usual battle-scarred gray sweater.
His dog is barking for food. He's hungry, too.
The heater's on. It's warm. Almost hot. Definately uncomfortable. The drapes in the great room are closed, so my Dad can watch the TV from where he sits without any glare.
"Sweetheart," I say to my wife, "why's it so hot in here?"
My wife looks at my Dad, and then she looks at me.
"Hot?" she asks me, innocently. "Really?"
"Dad," I say, "don't you think it's hot?"
"What?" he says.
"Don't you think the house is hot?"
He looks up from his food, and looks around, as if he can actually see the heat.
"What do you mean?"
"The house, Dad. Don't you think my wife has the heater on too high?"
"Nope. Feels pretty good to me," he says, and goes back to his food.
I look at my wife. She looks at me. She raises one eyebrow--nice trick--and gives me the stink eye .
I know what that means, so I have my breakfast and go upstairs. I open the windows in my room, as well as the french doors to the balcony. The view is great, especially with the fresh air coming in. I turn on my small TV, and sit on the bed to watch it.
Ah, home.
Raising My Father
JimDuchene.blogspot.com American Chimpanzee
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
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