"Can we leave now?" I asked my wife.
If looks could kill there wouldn't have been anyone alive within a thousand-mile radius.
I can't get over it. According to the Law of Diminishing Returns, for every year that passes there should be less people at these reunions, but instead there always seems to be MORE. And all those additional family members are hard on my Dad, who doesn't consider his trip a success until he's unintentionally insulted every relative there. And some who aren't.
"Stand up straight," he told the wife of one of his brothers as she walked past him.
She's has osteoporosis.
"Are you pregnant?" he asked one of his nieces.
She's close to 60.
"Well, she looked pregnant," he shrugged as she stormed off.
I wish I could say that my Dad's verbal boners were something that's developed as he's gotten older, but, no, he's been like that all of his life. He's never had an interior editor. Whatever he thinks, he says.
There's never been a gift I've given him that he hasn't thanked me for it by giving me a back-handed compliment. One time I got him a box of 12 T-bone steaks for his birthday.
"Thanks, son," he told me. "They almost look as good as the ones from Costco."
Another time, when my mother was still alive, my wife and I took them on a cruise. As we walked along the beach of Ensenada, Mexico, my Dad looked out over the ocean and said, "You know, I've been to beaches prettier than this one."
"Honey!" my Mom said.
"What?" my Dad said back.
I know it was my his way of telling us how pretty the beach was, but my wife still had to give my hand a squeeze to make sure I didn't say something that would spoil our nice trip.
"It's too late," I should have told her. "My Dad has already beaten me to it."
Still, my father isn't the only one who suffers from diarrhea of the mouth. One of my cousins--who, age-wise, is more like one of my uncles--kept asking my wife, "Didn't you used to have brown hair?" He was thinking of my first wife. The one who, if there ever was a Zombie Apocalypse, would fit right in.
My wife just smiled and nodded politely. When she's around my family, that's what she does best. Smiles and nods politely.
Sometime during the reunion, someone told my wife that someone else saw my dad walking away from the gathering.
"Who saw him?" she asked.
"I don't know," they answered.
"How long ago did he leave?"
"I'm not sure."
"Which direction did go?"
"You'll have to ask the person who saw him leave."
"But you don't know who that is?"
"No."
He's now MIA. My wife quickly found me, and, after taking a quick look around and not finding him ourselves, we gathered together a search party. We go up and down the streets, yelling, "Dad! Dad!"
But no Dad.
Somewhere along the line, my wife and I split up. She goes one way, I go another. Unfortunately, the way I go... no Dad. I call a few relatives who's cell phone numbers I had the presence of mind to key into my phone. They're back at the gathering.
"Couldn't find him," was the general consensus. Maybe if my Dad hadn't insulted so many people, they would have tried harder.
My phone went off. It was from my wife. She and a cousin I don't remember the name of, found him a MILE from where the reunion was being held. What was he trying to do? Walk back home? It was sheer luck and determination that they found him. I think they were looking for a Starbucks.
"He's okay," she told me, "but his eyes were as big as saucers. He was lost, but he didn't want to admit it."
My wife had been running all this time in sandals. Her feet were killing her and now had to walk another mile back. Later, she told me, "When I saw him I felt sorry for him, he looked like he was about to cry. He was looking around like he didn't recognize anything."
Back at the party, he was the belle of the ball, at least until the next stubborn old geezer wandered off. Everybody wanted to know why he didn't tell anyone he was taking off.
"I wanted to go for a walk," he told them, simply, "so I went for a walk."
It's amazing how brave a person gets when they're safe and sound.
Raising My Father
RisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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