On the last day of our short--too short--four day vacation, while we were returning home, I got a call from my daughter. She is laughing and telling me that Grandpa must have had a tough night.
On this particular morning my daughter had to leave early for work--she has a life, after all. She didn't have the time to wait for him to go on his walk (at his convenience) and return in enough time for her to get ready. She only told him that the day before about half a dozen times. As she is leaving for work she goes to the kitchen to make sure he is all right and to let him know that she is leaving.
"Grandpa," she tells him, "I'm leaving for work. I'll be back later. Is there anything you need?"
"Well..." her grandpa says, looking as if he doesn't know what's just happened. Some people watch what happens, some people make things happen, and some people wonder what happens. My Dad is at the wondering-what-happens stage of his life. I'm in no hurry. I'll get there soon enough.
"...huh?" grandpa continued. "I went on my walk and when I returned there was no breakfast. I had to make my own breakfast. I HAD to make my own breakfast."
There was a touch of irritation there. She could tell because of the way his eyes were bulging out. They bulge out the same way looking for landmarks when I'm driving him somewhere and he thinks I don't know where I'm going.
"...huh?" grandpa continued. "I went on my walk and when I returned there was no breakfast. I had to make my own breakfast. I HAD to make my own breakfast."
There was a touch of irritation there. She could tell because of the way his eyes were bulging out. They bulge out the same way looking for landmarks when I'm driving him somewhere and he thinks I don't know where I'm going.
Oooh-kay! "Well," my daughter says, "I have to go. I'll be back this afternoon."
"Hey? Where are you going?" my Dad says as she heads out the door, not making the connection that she only leaves for work every day of her life--excluding weekends.
"To work, grandpa."
She waves at him on her way out.
"Hey? Where are you going?" my Dad says as she heads out the door, not making the connection that she only leaves for work every day of her life--excluding weekends.
"To work, grandpa."
She waves at him on her way out.
"Well," he says. Smack, smack, smack! She sees him looking around the kitchen for a breakfast that refuses to materialize. Click, click, click! "I can hardly wait until your mother gets back so she can help me."
Help him? Help him do what? He does nothing all day. He goes on his walks--at his convenience--and when he returns he expects my wife to hand him a cold orange juice. And then he waits to be served his breakfast feast. And then he sits in his-my-favorite chair and watches baseball on TV. Somewhere along the line a dessert will appear. He must think it's by magic, because he doesn't bother to thank whoever it is--my wife--who places it in front of him.
I wish I had it half that good. Just half.
The next morning after we get back I run into Dad in the kitchen.
I greet him but keep my head down. I'm drinking a nice hot cup of gourmet coffee (don't hate me because I'm beautiful) and reading a Winchester Weapon catalog. I tell my three-year-old grandson that I'm going to buy one like the one Jimmy Stewart kept chasing after in the movie Winchester 73, and I'll take him hunting dinosaurs with it, but, man, these rifles are EXPENSIVE. Those dinosaurs will have to wait. Anyway...
My Dad looks at me, and then he looks discreetly over my shoulder to see if my wife is on her way to fix him something to eat. She isn't. I'm letting her sleep in.
"You sure were gone a long time," he tells me. "A long time."
We were gone four days. "You sure were gone a long time," he tells me. "A long time."
He doesn't ask me how our trip was, if we had fun, if I got lucky. No, all he asks is...
"Are you making breakfast?"
Too short, indeed.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
jimduchene.blogspot.com Fifty Shades of Funny
@JimDuchene
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