The Christmas Watch (Part Three)
I told you, my father wanted a watch for Christmas.
"What does he need a watch for?" I asked my wife. "The only thing he does is watch baseball on TV and eat. The baseball channel is on 24-hours/seven days a week, and his stomach tells him when it's time to eat."
Well, as it turns out, his old one broke and I was coming across as a bit of a jerk. Who was I to deny my father a watch for Christmas? However, I still kept asking the same question: "Why does he need a watch?"
Only I asked it to myself.
My wife, saint that she is, got him the watch he wanted and wrapped it up with a pretty little bow. When he opened his present Christmas morning, I heard a bell ring and was pretty sure a pair of wings were being reserved for her in Heaven.
It's a pretty nice watch, too. Much nicer than the one I wear. Considering I don't wear a watch, that's not hard to accomplish. The face lights up, in case he wants to know what time it is when he gets up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and, believe me, he is one happy 96-year-old camper.
Sometimes I'll spy on him as he sits in front of the TV, and every once in a while I'll catch him pressing the little button so he can see the light come on. The difference between men and boys, my friends, is the price of their toys. My Dad's toy wasn't cheap, let me tell you. In fact, it was very expensive, because that's just the way my wife rolls.
Do you know what else is expensive? Medicine.
Have you heard that this flu season is especially bad? That's because it's true. I've just spent the last couple of days recuperating from a severe bout. I rarely get sick, so when I do it hits me hard. Everything hurt, even my hair. My wife knew it was serious, because I didn't even want coffee. Of course, I wasn't hungry. All I wanted to do was sleep. My wife, not only is she a saint, but she's an angel. She let me sleep.
Not to throw stones, but my first wife never understood the connection between rest and recuperation. She would constantly wake me up when I was sick. It seemed like every fifteen minutes she would be at the door asking me, "Are you awake?"
When I'd finally get angry enough to tell her to let me sleep (sensitively, of course), her feelings would get hurt and she'd sulk off crying. Sick as I was, I'd have to get out of bed and apologize, because I had to depend on her for sustenance.
Although she'd tell me she was only concerned for my health, I could swear she did it to annoy me. Why else would any intelligent being wake up a sick individual just to ask them if they were awake? I was sick. She knew that. My status wasn't going to change every fifteen minutes.
My current wife, she understands the importance of sleep. Which is why, after only a couple of days, I woke up with an urge for a cup of coffee.
"You must be feeling better," she told me.
"I do," I told her back. "I even went into the bathroom and weighed myself. I lost seven pounds."
"Seven pounds?" she said. "Is it too late for me to get the flu?"
During this time, when my father would ask where I was, my wife would answer, "Oh, he's upstairs." She didn't dare tell him I had come down with the flu. I wouldn't say my father is a hypochondriac, but if he thinks he's getting sick, he'll get sick.
One time, my sister called him on the phone and made the mistake of telling him she couldn't visit because she felt like she was coming down with a cold.
"What?" my Dad said, and quickly handed the phone to my Mom like it was on fire.
Later that day, my Dad went to bed swearing he was coming down with a cold that he caught from my sister over the phone. How the germs could travel through the phone lines, he couldn't quite explain, but he was certain that they did.
Me? I don't mind getting sick. It gives me a chance to get caught up on my reading. But this bout of the flu came at a bad time, because I was going to take my grandson on a three-day hike. I'm sure my grandson was disappointed. He enjoys our little adventures. But of the two of us, I was probably the one most disappointed. As with all children, we only have them for a short while, and I hate to lose any time with them.
My hikes with my grandson are especially precious, because that's time the two of spend together without any distractions. We have interesting conversations because fortunately he's still too young to know everything. He'll ask me questions, and I'll answer them as best I can. I'll ask him questions, and he'll teach me a thing or two. Did you know there are people on the moon? Well, there are. I know this because my grandson told me.
However, my grandson isn't always able to go on hikes with me. And on those times I have to go alone. I don't mind. Sometimes it's nice to be alone. I'm sure it's nice for my wife as well. After a lifetime of working, I retired, and being together each day, every day can get kind of tiresome. For her, I mean.
When I hike, my mind wanders in many directions, unrestricted. I don't control it, and I don't try to control it. I just let it take me back to the past or forward into the future. It's one of the top five reasons why I like to get away from everything, and fortunately my wife understands this as well. I'll sit in the middle of nowhere and recall the good life. No blah, blah, blah from anyone to disrupt the river of thoughts. Edgar Allen Poe once wrote, "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream," and I understand what he was trying to say. Alone, in the middle of nowhere, my reality could very well be a dream.
Well, as it turns out, his old one broke and I was coming across as a bit of a jerk. Who was I to deny my father a watch for Christmas? However, I still kept asking the same question: "Why does he need a watch?"
Only I asked it to myself.
My wife, saint that she is, got him the watch he wanted and wrapped it up with a pretty little bow. When he opened his present Christmas morning, I heard a bell ring and was pretty sure a pair of wings were being reserved for her in Heaven.
It's a pretty nice watch, too. Much nicer than the one I wear. Considering I don't wear a watch, that's not hard to accomplish. The face lights up, in case he wants to know what time it is when he gets up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and, believe me, he is one happy 96-year-old camper.
Sometimes I'll spy on him as he sits in front of the TV, and every once in a while I'll catch him pressing the little button so he can see the light come on. The difference between men and boys, my friends, is the price of their toys. My Dad's toy wasn't cheap, let me tell you. In fact, it was very expensive, because that's just the way my wife rolls.
Do you know what else is expensive? Medicine.
Have you heard that this flu season is especially bad? That's because it's true. I've just spent the last couple of days recuperating from a severe bout. I rarely get sick, so when I do it hits me hard. Everything hurt, even my hair. My wife knew it was serious, because I didn't even want coffee. Of course, I wasn't hungry. All I wanted to do was sleep. My wife, not only is she a saint, but she's an angel. She let me sleep.
Not to throw stones, but my first wife never understood the connection between rest and recuperation. She would constantly wake me up when I was sick. It seemed like every fifteen minutes she would be at the door asking me, "Are you awake?"
When I'd finally get angry enough to tell her to let me sleep (sensitively, of course), her feelings would get hurt and she'd sulk off crying. Sick as I was, I'd have to get out of bed and apologize, because I had to depend on her for sustenance.
Although she'd tell me she was only concerned for my health, I could swear she did it to annoy me. Why else would any intelligent being wake up a sick individual just to ask them if they were awake? I was sick. She knew that. My status wasn't going to change every fifteen minutes.
My current wife, she understands the importance of sleep. Which is why, after only a couple of days, I woke up with an urge for a cup of coffee.
"You must be feeling better," she told me.
"I do," I told her back. "I even went into the bathroom and weighed myself. I lost seven pounds."
"Seven pounds?" she said. "Is it too late for me to get the flu?"
During this time, when my father would ask where I was, my wife would answer, "Oh, he's upstairs." She didn't dare tell him I had come down with the flu. I wouldn't say my father is a hypochondriac, but if he thinks he's getting sick, he'll get sick.
One time, my sister called him on the phone and made the mistake of telling him she couldn't visit because she felt like she was coming down with a cold.
"What?" my Dad said, and quickly handed the phone to my Mom like it was on fire.
Later that day, my Dad went to bed swearing he was coming down with a cold that he caught from my sister over the phone. How the germs could travel through the phone lines, he couldn't quite explain, but he was certain that they did.
Me? I don't mind getting sick. It gives me a chance to get caught up on my reading. But this bout of the flu came at a bad time, because I was going to take my grandson on a three-day hike. I'm sure my grandson was disappointed. He enjoys our little adventures. But of the two of us, I was probably the one most disappointed. As with all children, we only have them for a short while, and I hate to lose any time with them.
My hikes with my grandson are especially precious, because that's time the two of spend together without any distractions. We have interesting conversations because fortunately he's still too young to know everything. He'll ask me questions, and I'll answer them as best I can. I'll ask him questions, and he'll teach me a thing or two. Did you know there are people on the moon? Well, there are. I know this because my grandson told me.
However, my grandson isn't always able to go on hikes with me. And on those times I have to go alone. I don't mind. Sometimes it's nice to be alone. I'm sure it's nice for my wife as well. After a lifetime of working, I retired, and being together each day, every day can get kind of tiresome. For her, I mean.
When I hike, my mind wanders in many directions, unrestricted. I don't control it, and I don't try to control it. I just let it take me back to the past or forward into the future. It's one of the top five reasons why I like to get away from everything, and fortunately my wife understands this as well. I'll sit in the middle of nowhere and recall the good life. No blah, blah, blah from anyone to disrupt the river of thoughts. Edgar Allen Poe once wrote, "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream," and I understand what he was trying to say. Alone, in the middle of nowhere, my reality could very well be a dream.
Many moons ago, it was my
senior year in high school and I was dating the Wicked Witch of the West Side. To make a
long story short, we had just had a fight and were broken up. Too bad it wasn't the
final break up, but if it had been, I wouldn't be here typing this at this very moment.
Within days, I started dating another girl, a sophomore. She had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. In fact, she had the only green eyes I had ever seen. She was a very beautiful girl. Quiet, with a great smile. She was 15-years-old, and wore her skirts and her hair in the style of the times: short. What was exceptional was the color of her hair, which was platinum.
After the Wicked Witch of the West Side found out that she had been replaced, she dangled the one carrot that got me to go back with her. Again, I wish I hadn't, but if I hadn't, who knows where I would have ended up? Had I followed my heart instead of my... um, you know... I wouldn't be with the ones I love now. My wife, my kids, my grandkids... even my father.
Within days, I started dating another girl, a sophomore. She had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. In fact, she had the only green eyes I had ever seen. She was a very beautiful girl. Quiet, with a great smile. She was 15-years-old, and wore her skirts and her hair in the style of the times: short. What was exceptional was the color of her hair, which was platinum.
After the Wicked Witch of the West Side found out that she had been replaced, she dangled the one carrot that got me to go back with her. Again, I wish I hadn't, but if I hadn't, who knows where I would have ended up? Had I followed my heart instead of my... um, you know... I wouldn't be with the ones I love now. My wife, my kids, my grandkids... even my father.
The girl's name was, and probably still is,
Esperanza. A rather ugly name for such a pretty girl. Esperanza is Spanish for Hope, so we called her Hopie.
When I'm on my hikes, sometimes I think to myself that I would love to see Hopie again. Not woman she is now, but as the 15-year-old girl I used to date.
When I'm on my hikes, sometimes I think to myself that I would love to see Hopie again. Not woman she is now, but as the 15-year-old girl I used to date.
By myself, under the stars, I also wonder if, after
death, will we see our family and friends as we want to see them, or will we see them as
they were when they died? My mother in her hospital bed. My father sitting in front of the TV pressing the light button on his watch. Will my grandson see me as his hiking partner or the old man I'll someday become? No, thank you. In that case, I'd rather he not see me at all, than to see me wearing Depends in Heaven.
Personally, I don't want to be around a bunch of elderly men and women, if that's the way Heaven is, talking about their aches and pains and surgeries and noodles.
Personally, I don't want to be around a bunch of elderly men and women, if that's the way Heaven is, talking about their aches and pains and surgeries and noodles.
When I think of Hopie, I think of her as that young girl she was when I met her. And when she thinks of me, does she see me the way I was as a senior in high school, or does she picture me sitting in my favorite chair amusing myself with the way my watch lights up?
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
jimduchene.blogspot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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