RaisingDad

Merry Christmas to me!      Ho, ho, ho, and all that jolly old elf stuff.      An empty house is not a happy place, in and of itself. No, it takes a family to make that house a home, to fill all the nooks and crannies with Christmas joy. For me, my family is what makes my house the happiest place on earth. Even happier than Disneyland.      And they're all here. At home. At least for one night.      Everyone is talking and laughing. The grandkids are running around, laughing, and eating, with the dogs eating what the kids drop on the floor. All of this is what makes life worth living.      As some of us get older, some of us get smarter. Don't sweat the small stuff, because it's all small stuff. And, while you're at it, don't sweat the big stuff either.      When I ask some people how they're doing, n...

Ah, Christmas.      I remember when it would cost me under $100. It would be enough to buy enough gifts for everyone, and I'm talking about nice gifts. Not like the kind my brother gives. He once gave me a shirt that was from a very expensive store, and when I went to return it, the sales person hemmed and hawed and then told me that the shirt was from last season, and they could only give me the sale price, which ended up with ME owing THEM money. But I don't hold grudges.      Anyway...      Then the cost of Christmas warp-speeded into the hundreds. It seems like it was just a few years ago that I could still keep everything under a thousand... now it runs over a thousand. Why? Don't ask me, I just earn the cash and sign the checks.       Well, now that I have taken my parent's place within my family, the cost of Christmas continues to make t...

     Watch out, folks, Christmas is just a day or two away.      Myself, I enjoy the holidays. The days are short and cold, and the nights are long and even colder. People are friendly, and, if they can't accomplish that, they  try to be friendly, and, if they can't accomplish that, they try to appear to be friendly. I'll settle for that. I've always said that I'd rather have someone who hates me, but treats me good, than someone who loves me, but treats me bad. The  pretense of gentility is just as good as the real thing, as far as I'm concerned.      As usual, my wife and I are having the family Christmas dinner at our home. My wife likes to have it at our house because, as she says, we can cook whatever we want and invite whomever we want... it's our house. Our family has grown to the point that we have a lot of grandkids and non-family guests. ...

I get home today. All the lights are on.      In the great room. In the kitchen. The hallway. I can see the path whoever it was took just by looking at their trail of lights. It's so bright, I put on my sunglasses before I burn out my corneas.      I hear talking, but that's just the TV. It's on with no one watching it.       I know my wife is out having her hair done, so who could it have been?      I then look at my Dad's little father-in-law apartment in the front of my property. It's a separate unit, and its front door faces the entrance to our kitchen. I can see all the lights are on there as well. It's the middle of the day, and yet the outside light over his front door is even on. The lights are on in his room, his closet, his bathroom. Of course, his TV is on, too. Why wouldn't it be?      What is up with this?...

Last night, as I walked by my Dad's private bedroom in his private little father-in-law house at the front of the main house, I noticed that all of his lights were on. The light on the ceiling. The light on the nightstand. And the light in his closet. The TV was on. The bathroom light was on. And the heater was working overtime.      Has my Dad, in his old age, become afraid of the dark?      In fact, now that I think about it, where was my Dad?      He was in the great room, sitting in his-- my --favorite chair.      (In case you've always wondered why I always refer to his favorite chair as my favorite chair, it's because before my wife and I decided to invite him to live with us, that used to be my chair. He had his chair, back in the house he used to live in when my Mom was still alive, and it went with him to the very nice apartment he moved into after she died. Wh...

as submitted to the AARP Bulletin        At 18, you could say I was feeling my oats.      It was the 70’s, and various states—in their wisdom—had just lowered the drinking age, so my buddies and I thought we’d do our patriotic duty and throw back a few.      My father only had 2 rules for me: 1) don’t miss my curfew, and 2) don’t drink. Unfortunately, he didn’t add another rule to that short list: 3) don’t be stupid. If he had, I might not have broken the first 2.      To his credit, my father—whose belt not only held up his pants, but was also in charge of administering justice—didn’t overreact. In fact, he even let me sleep it off.      When I woke up the next afternoon, hung over didn’t even begin to describe how bad I felt. I didn’t think I was hung over, I thought I was dying. I felt so bad, my teeth even hurt.      “Hung over?” my Dad asked. He w...

Today I went to Costco to gas up.      With the gas pumps, there's only one way in and one way out. There are HUGE white arrows painted on the black pavement indicating which way you're supposed to travel. There are numerous signs that read "DO NOT ENTER!" "EXIT!" "EXIT ONLY!" and they're all painted in a bright red. Not even Ray Charles could miss them. And, if I haven't made my point clearly enough already, there are the white signs: "Enter" "Enter For Gas." Again, you could put a blindfold on Stevie Wonder, and he  would have had no problems finding the entrance and exit to the gas pumps.        Costco being where you can get cheap gas, the lines are all long  Except for one. I can do the math, that pump must be broken. But, as I drive closer to the pumps, I notice there's a car there... and it's pointed the WR0NG WAY!      This driver--a female--had...

My Mom, when she was alive, was amazing.      With all the kids and grandkids and grandkids she had, she never forgot a birthday. Especially mine. My birthday presents began with the Man From Uncle spy camera that turned into a gun, then, as the years flowed by, they slowly morphed into cash.      "For a comic book," she told me when I was a boy.      "For a book," she told me when  was a man.      If what you love is where your heart is, then she always knew where my heart was.      When she passed on, that was the end of the toys, the books... the cash. But every ending has a beginning, and that was the beginning of my Dad's coming to live with me and my family. And I haven't seen a birthday present since.      I sure do miss my Mom.     Raising My Father RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com jimduchene.b...

Tonight my family--that is, my kids and grandkids (the one's that I know of, that is [heh, heh])--are having a surprise birth day dinner for my wife and I. The preparations usually consist of our pretending we don't know about it, and their pretending we don't know about it. But really, my and my wife's birthdays are ten days apart, so any dinner or event we're required to attend at this time of year has to have something to do with our birthdays,  'ja think? It doesn't take Michio Kaku to tell me what time it is. (Heh, heh... I said kaku. )       My Dad's bad memory only seems to flare up when there's a birthday or anniversary to be celebrated. I'm not saying he's cheap. I'm just saying he doesn't care to spend the money or exert the effort to buy anyone a gift. Me, in particular. That was my mother's job, I guess, and she took it with her to the grave.   ...

My Dad drives me nuts.      Today I'm buffing the oak floor. (This is why I retired from my job, so I could spend all my free time buffing the floors.      "Tell me about it," my wife says as she washes what clothes need washing or makes what beds need making or cooks what foods need cooking. Anyway...)      The buffer is kind of loud (okay, it's a LOT of loud), and it makes a high pitched sound. A little TOO high-pitched for these old ears, so I wear ear protectors to muffle the sound. You've seen them used in gun ranges, if you're the kind of person who goes to gun ranges. If not, you've probably seen them in movies or TV. If you haven't seen them there, then you need to watch something else besides the Kardashians.       As I'm buffing the floor, my Dad walks in and sits in his-- my --favorite chair. My wife, out of habit, t...

Are people born stupid or do they grow into stupidity?      When I watch some of those TV shows geared toward kids, they always potray the kids as being smarter than their parents. Well, let's be honest, smarter than their dads . It would be politically incorrect to have stupid women, but how smart can the women be if they marry such stupid men? Well, that's neither here nor there. Where it is exactly, I couldn't tell you. Why?      Because I'm stupid.      Anyway, if these kids on TV or in the movies are so smart, then at some point they must reach an age where their intelligence begins to reverse in direct proportion to the years that are flying by.       For example, I was at the library not too long ago. I got there early, and saw a small group of people huddled at the door like the yearning masses the Statue of Liberty tells us about. I look at them, then I look at the library hours p...

I'm in the great room by myself, sitting in my favorite chair, and watching something other than baseball for a change.      How did I get so lucky? I don't know. My Dad must be taking a nap or something. He's 94-years-old. Maybe I should check on him. But-- dang it! --I'm really enjoying myself, because my hitting the trifecta of television-watching is so rare.      My wife walks in. She gives me a big smile, walks over, and picks up the remote. As she changes the channel, she asks, me "Were you watching this?"       My answer?      "Not anymore."      That's the price I pay for hot coffee in the morning, hot meals three times a day, and the occasional something hot at night. (And I'm not talking about cocoa.)      I look at my wife. She looks happy watching her reruns of NCIS. I think she has a crush on Mark Harmon.   ...

Today my grandson, who's 3-years-old, and I were at the park.      As we were leaving the play area I noticed a gray van. In it were a father and his 16-year-old son. The elder was teaching the younger how to parallel park. I didn't think much about it until I noticed the man's other  two young sons. One looked about 12 and the other about 14. They were each holding two six foot poles at each end of the limit line, in front of and in back of the van. Their father was using them as parking targets for his 16-year-old. I saw them more as potential fatalities.      As my grandson and I walk closer I see the driver. He's your typical 16-year-old, but he has a very stressed look on his face. The father is in the passenger side and I can see he's giving the boy advice. I thought about walking over and expressing my concern over using his kids as targets, because you read tragic...

You know what's scarier than Halloween? Dating. You know what's scarier than dating? Dating when you're older.      My Dad is 96-years-old, so these would be:   The Top Ten Things My Dad Would Do Before A Date      10.  Take a nap.   9. Wash off the fishy smell of Preparation H.   8.  Try to remember who he's taking out.   7.  Massage his prostate to ease the swelling.   6.  Massage his prostate because it feels good.   5.  Shave back, comb eyebrows, trim nostrils, and pluck the hair growing out of his ears.   4.  Do stretching exercises so he won't pull a muscle later just in case he... well... you know.   3.  Don't forget his Gas-X.   2.  Apply acne medication... ON HIS ASS!    And the number one thing he'd do before a date is:    1.  On hi...

My Dad's dog needed a check-up and his shots. My Dad knows it, but he acts like he doesn't understand when I tell him. And then tell him again. And again.       "Dad," I'll tell him, "we need to take your dog for his shots."      "Oh, I'm fine," he'll tell me, and nervously change the channel on the television set.      "Dad," my wife will say, "why don't we take your dog to get his shots today?"      "No, thanks," he'll say. "I'm not hungry."      Before you tell me to leave the poor old guy alone, this is the same poor old guy who studies his monthly bank statements for hours , and then, if he doesn't like what he sees, he'll have us take him to the bank so he can argue with somebody for hours more. I swear, when the bank sees him coming, they probably put the janitor in a business suit, and have him handle all of Dad's questions and complai...

Have you ever heard the old Henny Youngman joke about a man who goes to the doctor? It goes like this:   Man:  Doc, it hurts when I do this. Doctor:  Then don't do that.        Well, for awhile now I've been having dizzy spells when I stand up. I'll be sitting somewhere, feeling good, and the next moment I'll get up and feel dizzy. I have to steady myself for a few seconds before it goes away.      Like most guys, I figured if I waited long enough it would go away. When it didn't go away, I started to think all kinds of things that might be wrong with me.      I just finished watching Breaking Bad, and I thought about Walter White, the chemistry teacher turned crystal meth cook, who was dying of lung cancer (Did I spoil anything? Oops!). Let's see, he's got a cough, and I've got a cough. He got dizzy and fainted in the car wash he worked at, and I've gotten dizzy while waiting for my ca...