Time Is Relative

Last night my wife reminded my father that he had a doctor's appointment at 9:30 today.
     "I know, I know," he told her and waved her off.

     This morning he was up and ready at 6 am.

     SIX AM!

     When I went downstairs to fix myself a cup of coffee, he told me, "I'm ready."
     "For what?" I asked him.
     "My doctor's appointment," he told me. "You forget everything... hee, hee."
     There's no exchange of information my Dad takes part in that he can't turn into ridicule.

     Meanwhile, my wife is busy getting breakfast ready, if a bit earlier than usual. Her back is to me, but I can see she's laughing to herself. The only time interaction with my Dad is amusing, is when he's interacting with someone else.
     "I thought your appointment was at 9:30," I told him.
     This stops my Dad's laughter. He turns to my busy wife.

     "What time is my appointment?" he asks her.
     If you want something done, ask a busy person. That's what I've always heard. It's good advice, too. Good for me, because it keeps people from asking me to do something they want done.
     Not so good for my wife.

     "Your appointment is at 9:30," she tells him.

     "That's what I was thinking."

     Five minutes later:

     "What time is the appointment?"

     "Not until 9:30."

     "Yeah, I thought so." 

     Five minutes after that:

     "What time did you say my appointment was?"

     "9:30."

     "I was just wondering."

     Another five minutes:

     "What time is my appointment?"

     "9:30."

     "I just wanted to make sure."

     This went on for twenty minutes longer than I cared to listen to, so I knew it was time for me to go upstairs. When 9:30 came and went, I figured it was safe for me to come back downstairs. The house was quiet. Another person might say too quiet, but that person doesn't live with my Dad,
     If you're wondering how my wife got stuck taking my father to his doctor appointment, it's because she volunteered. I was never in the Army, but do you know what I learned watching Army movies? Never volunteer.

     When my father got home from seeing the doctor, he immediately started complaining about doctors in general. He was complaining to no one in particular (since no one in particular was listening), and he kept up his complaints all the way to his--my--favorite chair in the great room, where he sat down to conserve his energy so that he could focus it into even more complaints.

     "Those gosh-durn doctors don't know what they're doing," he said, only he didn't say "gosh-durn."

     "Those gosh-durn doctors talk nothing but crap," he said, only he didn't say "crap."

     "Those gosh-durn doctors blah, blah, blah."

     Yes, he said, "Blah, blah, blah."
     At least, that's what I heard.

     And then, suddenly, there was silence.

    I looked up.
     My father's mouth was open, his head tilted back, eyes only halfway shut. He had fallen asleep mid-complaint. Hmm... at least I think he was asleep.
     I checked.
     "Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..."
     He was breathing.
     I didn't have to call the president after all.

     One of these days I know I'm going to find him in a deeper sleep than I want, but today's not the day.

 

 

Raising My Father

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