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? Has he, in his old age, grown fearful of the shadows? Has he, in the twilight of his years, become afraid of the dark?
In the back of my mind I can picture him hiding from me. And laughing. High stepping it and laughing. Always around the next corner from where I am and where I'm looking.
Is he laughing at me? High stepping it because he left on all the lights?
I want to ask him, "Dad, what the hell are you doing?"
I mean, besides driving me nuts.
He doesn't pay for any of the bills. Maybe I should start charging him one-third of all the utilities, since there are three of us living here, just like he used to threaten to do to me when I was in high school and he was paying my living expenses. He never followed through on his threats, but I'm less sentimental than he is, so I wouldn't have a problem doing it. In fact, he should pay more because he eats three big meals and several snacks a day, that means more gas to cook the food. Myself, I'm happy with a sandwich. So's he, when it's just me cooking. I'll ask him, "Dad, do you want half of my sandwich?" (I'm watching my weight.) (Aren't we all.)
"Sure, son," he'll say, and eat it with no complaint.
With my wife, he'll hem and haw and go back and forth and eventually my wife will hit upon a suggestion that he'll tolerate.
"Well, if there's nothing else," he'll concede. "I don't want you to go to any trouble."
A deluxe, four-course meal later, he'll say, "You know what I was really in the mood for? Some soup. It's kind of chilly."
Kind of chilly?
Put on your sweater, old man! You know, the same sweater you wear when you go out for your daily walk on a hot summer day. I can't have the heater going on and on full blast because the temperature inside the house has dipped below 90 degrees.
Besides, I like a cool house.
Anyway...
When I finally find my old man, I'm going to jump on him about forgetting to turn off the lights... but, in the end, what's the point? I know his answer: "What?"
"The lights, Dad. The lights. You've got to remember to turn them off."
"The lights?"
"Yes, the lights."
"You want me to do what with them?"
"Turn them off, Dad. Turn them off!"
"You want me to turn off the lights?"
"Yes, Dad. I want you to turn off the lights."
And he'll look around. Just to mess with me.
"But they're already off," he'll point out, calmly.
"I mean, when you turn them on. When you turn them on, turn them off."
"But they're already off."
"I'm saying, when you turn them on."
"You want me to turn them... on? And then turn them... off? Are you messing with me?"
Hmm...
Maybe it's just easier for me to turn the darn things off myself.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com Fifty Shades of Funny
@JimDuchene
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