Once upon a time, oh, say, three nights ago, my wife had made some menudo for Halloween Eve. Menudo is a Mexican stew made with hominy and tripe.
What?
You don't know what tripe is?
Trust me, you don't want to know.
My wife? She's a pretty smart lady. Menudo is exactly the right thing to eat on a cold, cold night when you're busy handing out candies for Halloween. And if you spill the red broth on your shirt, you can even tell the innocent young trick-or-treaters it's blood.
Hang on a second... did I say "we"?
I meant "me".
Somehow, when it comes to getting off the couch to hand out the treats, my legs seem to be the only ones that work. But I don't mind. I've lost a lot of things when my Dad moved in with us. The use of the TV in the great room. The use of my favorite chair in the great room. The use of oxygen when my Dad leans to the side. I tell my wife to quit serving him the usual suspects of the gas-producing vegetable world, but she insists he needs the fiber.
My Dad, he usually has his nose in everything. If I accidentally leave my mail within reach, he'll go through it like he works for the government. All except for my bills, however. I leave my bills out on purpose, but those he wants to remain ignorant about. And every morning, even when the weather's bad, despite our pleading and good sense, he'll insist on going on his walk, but any time the doorbell rings he'll stay sitting right where he's at and inform me, "There's someone at the door."
The one thing I didn't lose, however, was my role as the primary candy-giver-outer on Halloween, and, to tell the truth, I love giving out candy for Halloween. I loved getting candy when I trick-or-treated when I was a kid, and I like thinking I'm adding to this generation's future fond memories of the ghoulish holiday. Also, I like the leftover candies.
But getting back to the menudo... man, was I HUNGRY. When I finally served myself a bowl, I sprinkled some oregano on it and started spooning it down. On the second spoonful, a little oregano twig got stuck in my throat, kind of like a tiny splinter. I swallowed and swallowed, but it was stuck good.
My wife was busy spooning down some menudo of her own and she saw me in distress. She asked me what was wrong. I told her I had an oregano twig stuck in my throat from the menudo. It felt like it was stuck at an angle, so I was afraid to swallow anything else, because I didn't want a big old piece of tripe to get caught on the twig and choke me.
My Dad was also there, sitting by us and eating his own bowl. He heard my sad story and told me, "Why don't you eat a banana? That will make the twig go down."
I tried to be polite, but I know I probably made an are-you-stupid-or-what? face. My wife even sat there looking at him because of his suggestion. I'm sure he must have given me that advice with the best of intentions, but why would I take the chance of swallowing anything and choking? If something's going to get stuck, it's going to get stuck. It doesn't matter if it's a piece of tripe or a piece of a banana, the twig doesn't care or know the difference.
Now, don't get me wrong, I knew the chances of actually choking because an oregano twig was stuck in my throat were pretty slim. It was a twig, after all. And tiny But why did I want to take a chance?
I don't remember how I answered him, as I was still worrying over my dilemma, but I'm sure part of my response was that I wasn't going to eat a banana because I didn't want to die.
After that, he didn't make any other suggestions that could potentially kill me.
My wife, in sympathy, stopped eating. My Dad, on the other hand, quickly forgot my rudeness and continued to eagerly chow down.
"This is really good!" he said between enthusiastic spoonfuls.
When he's eating, he'd be unaware of the world if it was ending.
Meanwhile, my wife just looked at me with pity in her eyes and said, "Aw, and you were really enjoying that menudo."
What?
You don't know what tripe is?
Trust me, you don't want to know.
My wife? She's a pretty smart lady. Menudo is exactly the right thing to eat on a cold, cold night when you're busy handing out candies for Halloween. And if you spill the red broth on your shirt, you can even tell the innocent young trick-or-treaters it's blood.
Hang on a second... did I say "we"?
I meant "me".
Somehow, when it comes to getting off the couch to hand out the treats, my legs seem to be the only ones that work. But I don't mind. I've lost a lot of things when my Dad moved in with us. The use of the TV in the great room. The use of my favorite chair in the great room. The use of oxygen when my Dad leans to the side. I tell my wife to quit serving him the usual suspects of the gas-producing vegetable world, but she insists he needs the fiber.
My Dad, he usually has his nose in everything. If I accidentally leave my mail within reach, he'll go through it like he works for the government. All except for my bills, however. I leave my bills out on purpose, but those he wants to remain ignorant about. And every morning, even when the weather's bad, despite our pleading and good sense, he'll insist on going on his walk, but any time the doorbell rings he'll stay sitting right where he's at and inform me, "There's someone at the door."
The one thing I didn't lose, however, was my role as the primary candy-giver-outer on Halloween, and, to tell the truth, I love giving out candy for Halloween. I loved getting candy when I trick-or-treated when I was a kid, and I like thinking I'm adding to this generation's future fond memories of the ghoulish holiday. Also, I like the leftover candies.
But getting back to the menudo... man, was I HUNGRY. When I finally served myself a bowl, I sprinkled some oregano on it and started spooning it down. On the second spoonful, a little oregano twig got stuck in my throat, kind of like a tiny splinter. I swallowed and swallowed, but it was stuck good.
My wife was busy spooning down some menudo of her own and she saw me in distress. She asked me what was wrong. I told her I had an oregano twig stuck in my throat from the menudo. It felt like it was stuck at an angle, so I was afraid to swallow anything else, because I didn't want a big old piece of tripe to get caught on the twig and choke me.
My Dad was also there, sitting by us and eating his own bowl. He heard my sad story and told me, "Why don't you eat a banana? That will make the twig go down."
I tried to be polite, but I know I probably made an are-you-stupid-or-what? face. My wife even sat there looking at him because of his suggestion. I'm sure he must have given me that advice with the best of intentions, but why would I take the chance of swallowing anything and choking? If something's going to get stuck, it's going to get stuck. It doesn't matter if it's a piece of tripe or a piece of a banana, the twig doesn't care or know the difference.
Now, don't get me wrong, I knew the chances of actually choking because an oregano twig was stuck in my throat were pretty slim. It was a twig, after all. And tiny But why did I want to take a chance?
I don't remember how I answered him, as I was still worrying over my dilemma, but I'm sure part of my response was that I wasn't going to eat a banana because I didn't want to die.
After that, he didn't make any other suggestions that could potentially kill me.
My wife, in sympathy, stopped eating. My Dad, on the other hand, quickly forgot my rudeness and continued to eagerly chow down.
"This is really good!" he said between enthusiastic spoonfuls.
When he's eating, he'd be unaware of the world if it was ending.
Meanwhile, my wife just looked at me with pity in her eyes and said, "Aw, and you were really enjoying that menudo."
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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