Some things just bug me.
Every sunrise, my Dad and I drink our morning coffees as we listen to the news on TV. I like to brew some gourmet coffee that I blend myself. As far as addictions go, that's not such a bad one. Just ask Philip Seymour Hoffman.
My Dad, on the other hand, likes instant coffee. I don't know why. Not even the top of the line brand, just whatever's cheapest at Wal-Mart.
"Dad," I'll ask, "why don't you try the coffee I buy."
"No, thanks," he'll say.
"It's good," I'll tell him.
"No, thanks," he'll tell me.
"Let me make you a cup," I'll persist.
"No, thanks," he'll persist, too.
"How about..."
"How can I tell you no in a way you'll accept?" he'll cut in, ending my persistence.
My Dad. He can be quite eloquent when he wants. Even at 94.
What we also like to do while we're having our coffee is read the newspaper. Well, make that: while my Dad reads the newspaper. If I'm lucky, maybe I can I'll grab a few sections while my Dad stakes his claim on the front page. I'll read the Sports section, the comics, Dear Abby. I'll go through the Classified section, read the editorials, the letters to the editor. I'll even look at the advertisements. And then I'll place all the sections I've read close to my father so he can also read them.
Now, what my father does, he has this habit of reading the front page and then setting that section next to him when he's done, just out of my reach. I only have time to read the paper in the morning, so if I don't read it then, then I don't read it at all. My days are just too busy, and I end up missing my daily dose of bad news.
Today, it's Super Bowl Sunday, and the front page is sitting on the table right next to him as he eats his breakfast. He's not reading it, in fact he's done with it, but he's keeping it close to him like a new girlfriend. It sits just close enough to him that if I reach over to snatch it from him, I'll invade his space.
Every sunrise, my Dad and I drink our morning coffees as we listen to the news on TV. I like to brew some gourmet coffee that I blend myself. As far as addictions go, that's not such a bad one. Just ask Philip Seymour Hoffman.
My Dad, on the other hand, likes instant coffee. I don't know why. Not even the top of the line brand, just whatever's cheapest at Wal-Mart.
"Dad," I'll ask, "why don't you try the coffee I buy."
"No, thanks," he'll say.
"It's good," I'll tell him.
"No, thanks," he'll tell me.
"Let me make you a cup," I'll persist.
"No, thanks," he'll persist, too.
"How about..."
"How can I tell you no in a way you'll accept?" he'll cut in, ending my persistence.
My Dad. He can be quite eloquent when he wants. Even at 94.
What we also like to do while we're having our coffee is read the newspaper. Well, make that: while my Dad reads the newspaper. If I'm lucky, maybe I can I'll grab a few sections while my Dad stakes his claim on the front page. I'll read the Sports section, the comics, Dear Abby. I'll go through the Classified section, read the editorials, the letters to the editor. I'll even look at the advertisements. And then I'll place all the sections I've read close to my father so he can also read them.
Now, what my father does, he has this habit of reading the front page and then setting that section next to him when he's done, just out of my reach. I only have time to read the paper in the morning, so if I don't read it then, then I don't read it at all. My days are just too busy, and I end up missing my daily dose of bad news.
Today, it's Super Bowl Sunday, and the front page is sitting on the table right next to him as he eats his breakfast. He's not reading it, in fact he's done with it, but he's keeping it close to him like a new girlfriend. It sits just close enough to him that if I reach over to snatch it from him, I'll invade his space.
I guess I'd better go do something else.
Like shoot myself in the head.
I've been invited to several Super Bowl parties, but I like watching the game alone. But, alas, not today. Today I have to watch it with my Dad. The good news is, I'm going to watch it on the super-duper large-screen TV in the great room, but the bad news is, if my Dad starts his smacking and snacking and groaning and moaning and clicking his tongue and letting loose some gas (Let's me just politely say that yesterday my Dad cleared out the kitchen. Our dogs even left, it stunk so bad.), if he starts all that, then I'll just go watch it on the 18-incher I have in my office.Like shoot myself in the head.
My wife is making her world-famous chili.
Maybe later I'll give my Dad a taste of his own medicine.
If you get my drift.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com Fifty Shades of Funny
@JimDuchene
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