RaisingDad

It's time for dinner.      I don't have to consult a psychic, I can read the signs myself. My Dad has just walked into the house and is standing in the kitchen looking like he's just lost something.      My wife is still putting it all together. She grabs all the veggies out of the refrigerator, makes a quick but tasty salad, and sets it where she always does: on the counter top for all of us to help ourselves.      Hmmm, help ourselves. We've only done this a million times before.      My Dad slowly walks to the counter where the salad is and stands in front of it. He doesn't know I'm watching him. If he does, he doesn't care. Meanwhile, my wife is working on the other half of dinner. She has her back to him.      I watch my Dad just stand there in front of the counter looking at the salad. Standing. Looking. Standing. Looking...

I don't get it. I've lived a pretty healthy life.      I watch what I eat. I exercise. I say my prayers before I go to bed at night. And yet, because of various clogged arteries, I've got to watch what I eat.      My 94-year-old father, on the other hand, has eaten bacon pretty much every day of his long life. Give or take the time during World War Two when he was in the Philippines courtesy of Uncle Sam. But if there was bacon on that island, I'm sure my Dad found it.      And HIS heart is fine and dandy, thank you very much. Not that I'm wishing him heart problems. I just wonder why, after all his smoking and drinking and bacon-eating, HE'S healthy as a horse, and after all my vitamins and organic foods and weight-lifting, I'M the one who ended up doing a Fred Sanford impersonation.      Not only that, remember when I told you about how I threw out my back picking a weed fr...

"Do you want some bacon with your pancakes?"      I love my wife. She keeps me well-fed. Unfortunately, that isn't me she's asking. She's talking to my Dad.      "Do I want what?" my Dad asks her in return.      "Bacon."      "Hmm..." he says, considering it. And then, "What?"      "I'd like some bacon," I tell my wife.      She ignores me, and continues asking my Dad, "Bacon. Do you want some bacon with your pancakes."      "I already have pancakes," my Dad informs her.      "I'd like some bacon," I inform her, too.      She turns her head to me.      " You can't have any," she informs me back.      Jeez... you have one little heart attack.      "Not pancakes, Dad. Bacon. Do you want any?"      "Any wha...

I don't know if you've been listening to the news these last few days, but it's been raining down where I live. Yeah, raining.      A lot.      When it rains, I like to stay indoors. I don't particularly care to go outside, and I don't especially care to drive anywhere. Too many people who don't know the difference between hydro plane and hydro gen .      Today, I'm sitting in the kitchen. I'm looking over the 50th anniversary issue of Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition until my father releases the morning newspaper from his wrinkly little fingers.      When I have time, I'm trying to finish reading a great book called Unbroken. A good portion of it takes place in various Japanese POW camps. The Japanese didn't hang onto their World War Two prisoners the way my Dad hangs onto the morning newspaper.      Every once in a while, I can see him looking over the top...