Yesterday, when I took my Dad to his doctor's appointment, he came out of his room smelling like he had bathed in Listerine. Needless to say, the smell of Listerine was so overwhelming on the trip there that it was almost more than I could take.
The ride to the doctor's office was a bunch of "...ahhh's..." Clicks. "...hmmm's..." Smacks. "...ooohwee's...." Not from me. From my Dad. But if I live long enough I can see myself making all those same noises.
Which brings me to today. We've had some warm weather here, lately. High 70's to mid-80's, but starting tomorrow the weather will cool down. It will drop to the mid-60's with a chance of rain. Enough rain to dirty my black SUV. Why did I buy black. I knew better, but I still did. You know, I used to think that SUV's were only for families with kids, but they're also for families with 90 year-old kids. A 94 year-old kid, to be exact.
Life doesn't change much. The way television shows are rerun over and over again, so are the habits of the elderly. For example, my Dad usually wants to go for his walk in the mid-afternoon. Today, the sky is cloudless, and it's pretty warm.
"It's hot, Dad," we warn him.
"It doesn't feel hot," he tells us.
The reason it doesn't feel hot, is because we're inside a nice, cool house. Outside of the nice, cool house it's warm. Too warm for a 94 year-old.
My Dad leaves anyway, and returns 30 minutes later soaking wet with perspiration. Even the rim around his hat is soaked through.
"Man, it's hot out there," he says.
My wife and I just look at each other. I notice for the first time that she's wearing a light sweater. My dad continues.
"My poor dog couldn't take it," he says, wiping his forehead and shaking his head. He's laughing. "He wanted to come home. Silly dog."
He looks at his dog, who's trying to cool himself off by lying on his belly on the cool kitchen floor.
"Can you get me something cold to drink?" he asks my wife. She gets up, and she does. "And some fresh water for the dog?"
My wife looks over at me. Our eyes meet for a second. Hidden just behind the look of sweetness and passivity there's another look. I know what that look means. It means: He's YOUR dad. Why aren't YOU getting his dog some water?
"Oooweee, it's hot!" my Dad says.
My father's still getting over a nasty cold that almost laid him low awhile back, and one would think that he would learn from the last thousand times we've told him to wait for his walk because it's either too hot, or it's too cold, or it's too windy, or it's too wet.
"Dad," we plead with him, "why would we lie to you?"
"I'm looking out the door," he tells us. "It's not (insert whatever weather report we've given him for the day)."
How my father can look at the rain, and say it's not raining is beyond me. He hates to be wrong, he hates to be told what to do, and he hates not getting his way. My own kids didn't give me this much trouble, even when they were teenagers. If I told them they couldn't go outside because it was raining, they would look outside and acknowledge it was raining. My Dad doesn't acknowledge the rain. Or any of the other elements, as well.
Now, my youngest grandson is smart, daring, and good-looking... just like his grandfather. Did I mention he was smart? Yeah, he learns fast.
In our backyard we have several ground spotlights that light up our water fountain. My grandson, who was only a year old at the time, found the spotlights very interesting, but like a moth, he only found them interesting when they were on. I caught him several times reaching over to touch them with his little fingers. I warned him that the light bulbs were hot.
One day, I lose sight of him for a split second, and it happens. He touches the bulb and it burns his finger. He cries for a little bit, and and then tells me, "Grandpa, hot."
"Yes," I tell him back. "It's hot."
"Hot."
"Yes, hot. I told you."
"Yes. Hot."
"Don't touch, okay? Don't touch."
"Hot."
After that day, when he sees them light up, he'll tell me, "Grandpa... HOT!"
"Yes, hot. Don't touch."
And he's never touched them again. He learned. Even at a year old, he learned. My Dad, on the other hand, is a different story.
He's 94 years-old and still hasn't learned, time after time after time, that when we say it's hot it's hot. So now we go along with him, what else can we do? When he returns from his walk on a warm day, he'll tells us, "Ooooweee, it's hot."
And we'll agree with him. My wife will hand him a cool glass of something to drink, and then she'll make sure his dog has some fresh water as well.
"Yes, Dad," we'll say, "it's hot."
Not "we told you," or any variation of that phrase.
If there's one thing I can count on in life, it's that my Dad will do what he does the way he does it for however long he wants to do it. Death and taxes will give in before he does.
Yesterday, when I took Dad to the doctor, he smelled like Listerine. Next week, when I take him to the dentist, he'll probably smell of Lysol
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Raising My Father
@JimDuchene
jimduchene.blogspot.com
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
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