Tonight my family--that is, my kids and grandkids (the one's that I know of, that is [heh, heh])--are having a surprise birthday 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.
However, there was a time when my Dad would get angry if someone would even beat him to the check at a restaurant. I remember one time my wife and I, before we were married, invited my Dad and Mom to dinner to celebrate our engagement. Since we had invited them, we (mainly my future wife) thought it was only fair to pay for the (very) expensive meal. So, when the waiter brought the check, under the condemning eye of my fiancé, I quickly snatched it up.
"Give me the check, son."
"No."
"Give me the check, son."
"No."
My Dad got pissed. He didn't say anything to be rude, but he also didn't say anything to me for the rest of the night.
Well, that was then, and this is now. These days, he doesn't even pretend to reach for his wallet to pay for anything. Whether we're at a restaurant or at Costco. If I told you the number of different items we have in our refrigerator or pantry or bathroom that my wife has bought for him, that he hasn't eaten or used, you'd call me a liar.
And I don't cotton to being called a liar.
So yesterday I tried to hand him a birthday card while explaining that it was his daughter-in-law's birthday on Friday and he should fill it out and give it to her.
I say "tried," because he acted as if I was trying to serve him a warrant. When he finally takes it, he looks at it like I've just handed him my mortgage bill. He looks at the card, turns it over and looks at the back side. He turns it back around and looks at it again.
However, there was a time when my Dad would get angry if someone would even beat him to the check at a restaurant. I remember one time my wife and I, before we were married, invited my Dad and Mom to dinner to celebrate our engagement. Since we had invited them, we (mainly my future wife) thought it was only fair to pay for the (very) expensive meal. So, when the waiter brought the check, under the condemning eye of my fiancé, I quickly snatched it up.
"Give me the check, son."
"No."
"Give me the check, son."
"No."
My Dad got pissed. He didn't say anything to be rude, but he also didn't say anything to me for the rest of the night.
Well, that was then, and this is now. These days, he doesn't even pretend to reach for his wallet to pay for anything. Whether we're at a restaurant or at Costco. If I told you the number of different items we have in our refrigerator or pantry or bathroom that my wife has bought for him, that he hasn't eaten or used, you'd call me a liar.
And I don't cotton to being called a liar.
So yesterday I tried to hand him a birthday card while explaining that it was his daughter-in-law's birthday on Friday and he should fill it out and give it to her.
I say "tried," because he acted as if I was trying to serve him a warrant. When he finally takes it, he looks at it like I've just handed him my mortgage bill. He looks at the card, turns it over and looks at the back side. He turns it back around and looks at it again.
"You say it's what?" he asks me. The words "Happy Birthday" are right in the front. What's not to understand?
"It's my wife's birthday and it's a card you can give her?" I answer him.
"Who's birthday?"
"My wife. Your daughter-in-law. Tomorrow's her birthday."
My Dad continues to stare at the card.
"Mumble, mumble, mumble. Grumble, grumble, grumble," he says. "Ahhhhhhhhhh... what?"
"Mumble, mumble, mumble. Grumble, grumble, grumble," he says. "Ahhhhhhhhhh... what?"
"It's my wife's birthday tomorrow."
"You say tomorrow? What's tomorrow?"
"It's my wife's birthday."
"It's whose birthday?"
"It's my wife's birthday."
"It's whose birthday?"
"Your daughter-in-law's!"
Now he's acting like he can't hear. This from a man who can hear me whispering to my wife when he is sitting in his--my--favorite chair in the great room watching baseball on TV with the volume knob turned to 11, and my wife and I are in the garage, doors closed, car engine running, our grandkids screaming, and I whisper to her, "Let's go to Costco."
"What?" he'll yell from where he's at, already getting up, putting on his shoes, and looking for his favorite old, gray sweater. "You're going to Costco? I sure like them cream puffs and corn dogs. Yeah, boy, I can taste them now," as he ah, ah, ahhs, we, we, wees, and smack, smack, smacks.
But back to the present...
"What?" he'll yell from where he's at, already getting up, putting on his shoes, and looking for his favorite old, gray sweater. "You're going to Costco? I sure like them cream puffs and corn dogs. Yeah, boy, I can taste them now," as he ah, ah, ahhs, we, we, wees, and smack, smack, smacks.
But back to the present...
"Your wife?" he says, giving me a look like he doesn't know who I'm talking about.
"Yes! My wife! You know, the person who loves you and cooks for you, gourmet four course meals three times a day! Washes your clothes, pays for the maid to clean your house, and buys you everything you want on my dime! Treats you like a king and serves you like a slave! Blah, blah, blah, and on and on."
Well, that's what I was thinking, but, being the good son that I am, I held my tongue.
I stood there. Waiting.
My Dad stood there. Looking.
I stood there some more.
So did my Dad.
I looked at him.
He looked at the card in his hands.
"Birthday, huh?"
"Yeah, birthday."
If he thought he was going to out-wait me on this one, he was wrong.
Like any good salesman, I put the contract in front of him, handed him a pen, and waited for him to sign it. If you wait long enough, and don't say anything, most people will sign just out of awkwardness. You do understand that that's just a metaphor, right?
Of course you do.
"Yes! My wife! You know, the person who loves you and cooks for you, gourmet four course meals three times a day! Washes your clothes, pays for the maid to clean your house, and buys you everything you want on my dime! Treats you like a king and serves you like a slave! Blah, blah, blah, and on and on."
Well, that's what I was thinking, but, being the good son that I am, I held my tongue.
I stood there. Waiting.
My Dad stood there. Looking.
I stood there some more.
So did my Dad.
I looked at him.
He looked at the card in his hands.
"Birthday, huh?"
"Yeah, birthday."
If he thought he was going to out-wait me on this one, he was wrong.
Like any good salesman, I put the contract in front of him, handed him a pen, and waited for him to sign it. If you wait long enough, and don't say anything, most people will sign just out of awkwardness. You do understand that that's just a metaphor, right?
Of course you do.
After several minutes of going back and forth--me looking at him, him looking at the card--he walks away.
Mumble, mumble, mumble.
Grumble, grumble, grumble.
Ahhhhhhhhhh...
I won!
Sorta.
Mumble, mumble, mumble.
Grumble, grumble, grumble.
Ahhhhhhhhhh...
I won!
Sorta.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
jimduchene.blogspot.com Fifty Shades of Funny
@JimDuchene
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