Yes, he has a very nice electric tooth brush. A very nice expensive electric tooth brush. One day, my wife and I made the mistake of taking him shopping with us to Costco, and when the cashier was ringing up all of our items, she picked up an electric toothbrush to scan.
"Don't scan that," I told the cashier. "It's not ours."
My wife immediately gave me the old elbow-to-the-ribs routine.
"What?" I said, rubbing my side.
She discreetly nodded in the direction of my father, who was standing next to me. She was trying not to embarrass him, but he wasn't even paying attention. He was busy looking toward the snack bar and trying to decide whether he wanted pizza or a hot dog on his way out.
Immediately, I understood.
My father has the habit of tossing items into our cart when he thinks we're not looking. My wife lets him get away with it. Me? I have the habit of taking those items out when I think he's not looking.
He must have slipped that one by me.
Let me take this opportunity to give my Dad credit, just so you won't think I'm always counting my nickels and dimes, he still has all of his own teeth. His teeth have to be--what--91-years-old? He's 96 and should have lost his baby teeth when he was four or five, give or take, carry the one. Well, anyway, to get back to my story...
My wife told him to let me take a look at it.
I gave my wife a Why-are-you-involving-ME-in-this-for? look, but she didn't even bother to acknowledge me. There's only one person she has sympathy for in this household, and that one person is not me.
"You're a big boy," she's told me on more than one occasion.
"So's my Dad," I've told her in return. Speaking of whom...
My father left. He returned about ten minutes later empty-handed. Mumbling. Something about his toothbrush.
"What about your toothbrush, Dad?" my wife asked him with the patience of a saint.
"It's not working," he said.
"Why don't you let your son take a look at it?" she suggested again.
That idea must have appealed to him, because he left our house a second time, walked over to the little father-in-law house he lives in at the front of our property.
He came back. Once again empty-handed.
You know, I can sympathize with him. Many is the time I have entered a room and forgotten what I have entered it for. Well, to make a long story short...
He finally came back with the toothbrush, but when he returned he just stood in the middle of the kitchen mumbling and fiddling around with it. There's two things my dad likes to do. He likes to mumble and he likes to fiddle. Sometimes even in that order.
"What's that, Dad?" my wife asked him.
"My toothbrush," he said.
"What's the matter with it?"
"It's not working."
"What's not working?" I chimed in.
"My toothbrush," and he told me what I already knew. What I've known for the last half hour.
He pointed the toothbrush toward me and turned the switch from "on" to "off" to "on" to "off" and back to "on" again, showing me that it wasn't working.
"You see," he told me, "it's not working."
I was thinking... well, you don't really want to know what I was thinking. Let's just say I was thinking that my coffee was getting cold.
"Let me take a look at it, Dad," I told him.
"Yeah, Dad, let your son take a look at it," my wife encouraged.
My Dad, however, had other ideas, so we stood there while he fooled around with it and then fooled around with it some more. First, he turned it "on," and then he turned it "off." Then he turned it "on." And then he turned it "off." "On." "Off." "On." "Off." This went on for several minutes. And then it went on for several minutes more."Don't scan that," I told the cashier. "It's not ours."
My wife immediately gave me the old elbow-to-the-ribs routine.
"What?" I said, rubbing my side.
She discreetly nodded in the direction of my father, who was standing next to me. She was trying not to embarrass him, but he wasn't even paying attention. He was busy looking toward the snack bar and trying to decide whether he wanted pizza or a hot dog on his way out.
Immediately, I understood.
My father has the habit of tossing items into our cart when he thinks we're not looking. My wife lets him get away with it. Me? I have the habit of taking those items out when I think he's not looking.
He must have slipped that one by me.
Let me take this opportunity to give my Dad credit, just so you won't think I'm always counting my nickels and dimes, he still has all of his own teeth. His teeth have to be--what--91-years-old? He's 96 and should have lost his baby teeth when he was four or five, give or take, carry the one. Well, anyway, to get back to my story...
My wife told him to let me take a look at it.
I gave my wife a Why-are-you-involving-ME-in-this-for? look, but she didn't even bother to acknowledge me. There's only one person she has sympathy for in this household, and that one person is not me.
"You're a big boy," she's told me on more than one occasion.
"So's my Dad," I've told her in return. Speaking of whom...
My father left. He returned about ten minutes later empty-handed. Mumbling. Something about his toothbrush.
"What about your toothbrush, Dad?" my wife asked him with the patience of a saint.
"It's not working," he said.
"Why don't you let your son take a look at it?" she suggested again.
That idea must have appealed to him, because he left our house a second time, walked over to the little father-in-law house he lives in at the front of our property.
He came back. Once again empty-handed.
You know, I can sympathize with him. Many is the time I have entered a room and forgotten what I have entered it for. Well, to make a long story short...
He finally came back with the toothbrush, but when he returned he just stood in the middle of the kitchen mumbling and fiddling around with it. There's two things my dad likes to do. He likes to mumble and he likes to fiddle. Sometimes even in that order.
"What's that, Dad?" my wife asked him.
"My toothbrush," he said.
"What's the matter with it?"
"It's not working."
"What's not working?" I chimed in.
"My toothbrush," and he told me what I already knew. What I've known for the last half hour.
He pointed the toothbrush toward me and turned the switch from "on" to "off" to "on" to "off" and back to "on" again, showing me that it wasn't working.
"You see," he told me, "it's not working."
I was thinking... well, you don't really want to know what I was thinking. Let's just say I was thinking that my coffee was getting cold.
"Let me take a look at it, Dad," I told him.
"Yeah, Dad, let your son take a look at it," my wife encouraged.
My Dad finally stopped fooling with it. He looked at me and then my wife, me and then my wife, saw that she was the most sympathetic, and informed her like it was the first time, "See? It's not working."
I looked over at my wife. She just ignored my stare.
My wife then decided to try a different track. She told him, "Just leave it on the counter and we'll look at it."
"I will, I will," he said, "but, you see, it's not working."
He began to fiddle with even more enthusiasm and we saw something come off in his hand. He turned his back to us so we couldn't see any more of what he was doing. If only crime were that easy to get away with.
"Now the back part doesn't fit anymore," he finally admitted, turning back to face us. "It should fit, but it doesn't fit."
He tried to force the part in, and even pounded on it with his hand.
He began to fiddle with even more enthusiasm and we saw something come off in his hand. He turned his back to us so we couldn't see any more of what he was doing. If only crime were that easy to get away with.
"Now the back part doesn't fit anymore," he finally admitted, turning back to face us. "It should fit, but it doesn't fit."
He tried to force the part in, and even pounded on it with his hand.
From where I sat, I could see that he took the back cover off, removed the battery case, and was trying to re-installed it the wrong side up.
He began hitting the battery case with his fist.
"That's the problem," he said. "The battery doesn't fit. It's the wrong one!"
He began hitting the battery case with his fist.
"That's the problem," he said. "The battery doesn't fit. It's the wrong one!"
"Dad," my wife told him with too much patience, "it fit perfectly before you removed it."
My father gave her a Yeah? So? look.
"The problem is that you put it in backwards."
The expression on his face didn't change. She must have taken that for a positive sign, because...
"Look--see this little lock pin?--it goes towards the back of the handle. The lock pin and receiver should match up."
My Dad's expression still didn't change.
"Just leave it there and we'll look at it," my wife finally said.
My father gave her a Yeah? So? look.
"The problem is that you put it in backwards."
The expression on his face didn't change. She must have taken that for a positive sign, because...
"Look--see this little lock pin?--it goes towards the back of the handle. The lock pin and receiver should match up."
My Dad's expression still didn't change.
"Just leave it there and we'll look at it," my wife finally said.
"I know what the problem is," my father told her, starting to get exasperated. "I can see what the problem is. The problem is the battery case is the wrong one. They sold you the wrong battery case to go with this toothbrush."
"Dad, you've been using the same toothbrush for months, and it's always worked. It's the right battery case. You're just trying to force it in the wrong way. Leave it there and we'll look at it."
My father answered by walking outside to get a better look at the situation.
We could see him hold the toothbrush up to the sunlight. We could see him studying it for several long minutes. Not several short minutes, but several loonnngggg minutes. He looked at it back and forth, up and down, Simon and Garfunkle. He took so long, I began to wonder if time was somehow different for my father than the rest of us.
I guess he saw what he needed to see, because he started pounding on it again with his hand. I'm sure this was because it worked so well the first hundred times.
"I think I've got it," he told no one in particular, but it was no use. It's was like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. I'm sure he could have done it, he just needed a large hammer to help him do it with.
Finally, he came back inside and sat in my favorite leather chair. He managed to turn the lamp on without breaking it and continued to "fix" his toothbrush.
Every once in a while, he'd look over at us.
My wife would give him a sympathetic look, but I pretended I didn't notice. I wanted no part of his shenanigans, of trying to fix his electric toothbrush with him looking over my shoulder, or worse, of not being able to fix it and then being the one blamed for breaking it.
We could see him hold the toothbrush up to the sunlight. We could see him studying it for several long minutes. Not several short minutes, but several loonnngggg minutes. He looked at it back and forth, up and down, Simon and Garfunkle. He took so long, I began to wonder if time was somehow different for my father than the rest of us.
I guess he saw what he needed to see, because he started pounding on it again with his hand. I'm sure this was because it worked so well the first hundred times.
"I think I've got it," he told no one in particular, but it was no use. It's was like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. I'm sure he could have done it, he just needed a large hammer to help him do it with.
Finally, he came back inside and sat in my favorite leather chair. He managed to turn the lamp on without breaking it and continued to "fix" his toothbrush.
Every once in a while, he'd look over at us.
My wife would give him a sympathetic look, but I pretended I didn't notice. I wanted no part of his shenanigans, of trying to fix his electric toothbrush with him looking over my shoulder, or worse, of not being able to fix it and then being the one blamed for breaking it.
I looked at my wife.
She gave me an encouraging smile.
I smiled back...
...and I was out of there.
She gave me an encouraging smile.
I smiled back...
...and I was out of there.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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