AGAIN...

Again I walk into the great room and every darn light is on and the TV is blasting away. Even the kitchen lights are turned on... and it's the middle of the day!
     I look for my Dad, and my Dad is MIA.
     I turn off all the lights in the kitchen, in the great room, I turn off the TV, and I go back upstairs. An hour later I make my way downstairs. Everything is just the way I left it. The kitchen lights are off. The great room lights are off. The TV is off. Only...
     I see my Dad sitting in his (my) favorite chair. He's sitting in the relative darkness of the great room. In front of a turned-off TV. I don't know what he's doing, I don't know if he's waiting for my wife to come downstairs and turn on the TV for him and bring him some snacks.
     I get a drink from the refrigerator and pretend like I don't see him sitting there. I go back upstairs.
     Lest you think I'm a complete jerk, let me tell you, my Dad walks twice a day, rain or shine. Myself, I can only manage three times a week. When he gets his bank statements, he pours over them like an IRS agent going over the records of a Tea Party conservative. If he can figure out his bank statements, which not everyone can, I figure he can turn back on the lights and TV for himself.
     My Dad drives me nuts.
     I don't know if I'll live long enough to spend any of my inheritance.
 
 

Raising My Father

RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com

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