Yesterday...
...my father was sitting in his--uh... make that my--favorite chair in the great room watching a baseball game on the best TV in the house. You know what I call the baseball games he watches? E pluribus unum.
He has a perfectly fine TV in his own room. It's even bigger than the TV I usually end up watching upstairs in my work-out room.
My father is sitting there, picking his teeth with an old worn-out tooth-pick. He has just finished a five-star, four-course meal courtesy of my wife. I hear the catholic church is in the process of making Pope John Paul Ringo & George a saint. Well, before they do, they'd better put my wife at the head of the line if they know what's good for them.
Me?
I'm sitting at the kitchen counter enjoying a hot cup of Irish coffee, just minding my own business, trying to remember when the last time was that I had corrupted a soon-to-be-saint.
As my wife finishes up washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, she decides not to leave well-enough alone, and asks me, "Do you think your father wants something to drink?"
I don't even bother to look up from the newspaper.
"He's fine," I tell her.
"Why don't you ask him if he wants something to drink?"
She puts it in the form of a question, but we've been married a long time. I know what she's actually doing is telling me to take a break from one of my few joys in life and get him something to drink.
What my wife doesn't understand is that my father and I have a deal. I don't bother him and he doesn't bother me. It's a good relationship and I'd like to keep it that way. Why fix what isn't broken? A stitch in time saves nine, and all that.
"If my Dad wants me to get him something to drink, he'll ask me," I tell her, but I can tell she's annoyed by my answer and my attitude.
Notice, I didn't tell her that if my Dad wanted something to drink he'd ask me, because he wouldn't. He'd ask his lovely daughter-in-law. In a world where you can't depend on the politicians you vote for or the city councilmen you pay off, my father can always depend on my wife, his daughter-in-law.
He can depend on me, too, but with a different level of enthusiasm and participation.
This annoys my lovely wife.
Which amuses me.
Which annoys my wife even more.
She shows her annoyance by doing the job she thinks I should be doing. She goes over to my father and tells him, "Dad, I'm going upstairs. Would you like something to drink?"
...my father was sitting in his--uh... make that my--favorite chair in the great room watching a baseball game on the best TV in the house. You know what I call the baseball games he watches? E pluribus unum.
He has a perfectly fine TV in his own room. It's even bigger than the TV I usually end up watching upstairs in my work-out room.
My father is sitting there, picking his teeth with an old worn-out tooth-pick. He has just finished a five-star, four-course meal courtesy of my wife. I hear the catholic church is in the process of making Pope John Paul Ringo & George a saint. Well, before they do, they'd better put my wife at the head of the line if they know what's good for them.
Me?
I'm sitting at the kitchen counter enjoying a hot cup of Irish coffee, just minding my own business, trying to remember when the last time was that I had corrupted a soon-to-be-saint.
As my wife finishes up washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, she decides not to leave well-enough alone, and asks me, "Do you think your father wants something to drink?"
I don't even bother to look up from the newspaper.
"He's fine," I tell her.
"Why don't you ask him if he wants something to drink?"
She puts it in the form of a question, but we've been married a long time. I know what she's actually doing is telling me to take a break from one of my few joys in life and get him something to drink.
What my wife doesn't understand is that my father and I have a deal. I don't bother him and he doesn't bother me. It's a good relationship and I'd like to keep it that way. Why fix what isn't broken? A stitch in time saves nine, and all that.
"If my Dad wants me to get him something to drink, he'll ask me," I tell her, but I can tell she's annoyed by my answer and my attitude.
Notice, I didn't tell her that if my Dad wanted something to drink he'd ask me, because he wouldn't. He'd ask his lovely daughter-in-law. In a world where you can't depend on the politicians you vote for or the city councilmen you pay off, my father can always depend on my wife, his daughter-in-law.
He can depend on me, too, but with a different level of enthusiasm and participation.
This annoys my lovely wife.
Which amuses me.
Which annoys my wife even more.
She shows her annoyance by doing the job she thinks I should be doing. She goes over to my father and tells him, "Dad, I'm going upstairs. Would you like something to drink?"
"Huh?" my Dad says, looking up. "You're going upstairs?"
"Yes."
"Well, why are you telling me?"
I thought that was a pretty reasonable question coming from my father. My wife ignores it because past experience has taught her that to answer it would send her off on a completely different conversation, so she returns to her main point.
"Would you like something to drink?" she repeats.
"Who?... Ah?... Wha?..." he says. Mumble, mumble, mumble. "What's that again?"
"Yes."
"Well, why are you telling me?"
I thought that was a pretty reasonable question coming from my father. My wife ignores it because past experience has taught her that to answer it would send her off on a completely different conversation, so she returns to her main point.
"Would you like something to drink?" she repeats.
"Who?... Ah?... Wha?..." he says. Mumble, mumble, mumble. "What's that again?"
"Would you like something to drink?"
I don't know how many ways she can say this that would make it easier for him to understand. Would YOU like something to drink? Would you LIKE something to drink? Would you like SOMETHING to drink? The possibilities aren't endless, they just feel that way.
I don't know how many ways she can say this that would make it easier for him to understand. Would YOU like something to drink? Would you LIKE something to drink? Would you like SOMETHING to drink? The possibilities aren't endless, they just feel that way.
"Ahh... hmmm..." my Dad tells her and mumble, mumbles some more. "Who's going upstairs?" he asks, finally.
"I am, Dad. Would you like something to drink before I go?"
"You want something to drink?"
"I am, Dad. Would you like something to drink before I go?"
"You want something to drink?"
My wife looks at me.
I look at her.
And smile.
She gives me her go-to-hell look, and doesn't return the smile.
She tries again.
I look at her.
And smile.
She gives me her go-to-hell look, and doesn't return the smile.
She tries again.
"Before I go upstairs, can I get you something to drink? Some tea perhaps? Or juice? Maybe some chocolate milk?"
"You're going upstairs for something to drink?"
"Dad, would you like something to drink?"
"Oh! You mean me."
"Yes. You."
"But I'm not going upstairs."
"Dad, I just want to know if you would like something to drink."
"Well, why didn't you say so? I thought you said you were going upstairs."
My wife is determined to stay on point. I'm thinking she should try the Jedi mind-trick and speak like Yoda, "Something to drink you would like, hmmm?"
Instead, she unimaginatively repeats, "Dad, would you like something to drink?" and it finally sinks in.
"Something to drink, you say? Hmm... something to drink, something to drink."
"Yes, something to drink."
"You're going upstairs for something to drink?"
"Dad, would you like something to drink?"
"Oh! You mean me."
"Yes. You."
"But I'm not going upstairs."
"Dad, I just want to know if you would like something to drink."
"Well, why didn't you say so? I thought you said you were going upstairs."
My wife is determined to stay on point. I'm thinking she should try the Jedi mind-trick and speak like Yoda, "Something to drink you would like, hmmm?"
Instead, she unimaginatively repeats, "Dad, would you like something to drink?" and it finally sinks in.
"Something to drink, you say? Hmm... something to drink, something to drink."
"Yes, something to drink."
"Something to drink..."
"What would you like, Dad?"
My father thinks about it, and then he thinks about it some more. And then he says, "No, nothing. I'm fine."
"Okay," my wife says, and then turns to leave.
"But before you go," my father really does tell her, "can you get me something to drink?""Okay," my wife says, and then turns to leave.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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