My grandson likes cartoons the way my father likes his baseball games, and, having said that, let me tell you, my father is especially happy that the Mets are in and the Cubs are out, despite what Back To The Future predicted. Let this be a lesson for you. If you base your reality on a movie's fantasy, you're going to be disappointed.
When my father watches his games, we give him the peace and quiet he wants. He can hear me when I'm upstairs whispering sweet nothings in my wife's ear, but he can't hear the TV blasting in front of him from a distance of less than ten feet.
Go figure.
With my Dad, it's a one way street. We watch what he watches, or we can go watch something else someplace else. Sometimes my father surprises me, and he'll sit and watch cartoons with us. That's what he's doing now. Either he likes the company or he likes the same cartoons we're watching.
Right now, I happen to be hungry. It's only 1400 hours (that's 2pm for you non-military types), and, since I'm trying to lose weight, I eat at this time and "try" not to eat later. Sadly, my wife's a great cook, so "trying" not to eat later is like trying not to breathe now. It's also hard, because my father is a very enthusiastic eater. Put a plate of food in front of him and he'll inhale it like he's Matt Damon on Mars. But I'm not talking about him, I'm talking about me, and thanks to my doctor I'm reduced to eating fruits or veggies or indulging in the occasional protein drink. When I'm in the mood for a snack, I have to go outside and lick a tree. My Dad, on the other hand, can eat anything he wants. If you've ever been told that life's not fair, you were probably told that by someone who knows me.
Somehow my father has gotten on to my routine. He used to take his nap between one in the afternoon and three, but now that he knows I eat around two, he'll sit and he'll wait, and he'll sit and he'll wait, and he'll sit and wait some more. He sits and waits, and waits and sits, and sits and sits, and waits and waits. Why does he do all this sitting and waiting? Because he's hoping I 'll cook something. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I wait him out.
My father knows that if I make
something for myself, I'll always make enough for him. I have no idea where he
puts it all because at 1600 hours, he'll eat again. 4pm is when my beautiful wife serves him his early dinner. He's served like he's the King of the Knights of the Round Table. He's served in the great room, as he sits in his--my--favorite chair, and on the Rolls Royce
TV tray we bought him. I say "we" bought it for him because he never reimbursed us for the expenditure. My wife serves him his food hot, like he likes it, and his drink so cold there's condensation dripping down the sides of the glass, if, in fact, glasses do have sides. And she does this all without him missing
an out or a hit on TV.
I look up because my father just mumbled something. My grandson is so intent on the cartoon he's watching that he doesn't even notice. Or maybe he noticed, but has learned from me that sometimes it's better to pretend that you didn't. My Dad's mumble is
followed by a couple of long, loud, deep sighs, and a yawning, "I'm tired, maybe I'll go take a nap. Ohhh...
ahhh..." he says. "Woweee. Great googly-moogly, maybe I
should take a nap. Mumble, mumble, mumble," my father mumbles some more. Click, click! Smack, smack!
"Let's go watch TV upstairs," I tell my grandson, and he agrees. When my father starts making his noises, I know it's time for me to exit, stage left.
As we're walking away I hear my father start to gargle, he's gargling in the great room. What the hey? He stops, and then I hear him start up again. His gargling is getting louder. I better pay closer attention to him. My first order of business is finding out where it is that he's spitting whatever it is that he's gargling?
"I'll meet you upstairs," I tell my grandson, giving him a little push in the back for encouragement.
"Aww..."
"I'll get us some ice cream."
"...aww-right!"
I'm now watching my Dad with the same interest I watch those model/hostesses on The Price Is Right with. I see my father take a drink from his cup. I think he's drinking tea. He tilts his head back, gargles, and then swallows. He takes another drink, this time swishing the liquid around inside his mouth before gargling and drinking it. He does this several times.
Perhaps my father is appreciating some fine expensive wine that I don't know anything about. Just when I thought things could not get any stranger, it's turned out that my father has become a late-in-life wine connoisseur.
No, it just tea.
As we're walking away I hear my father start to gargle, he's gargling in the great room. What the hey? He stops, and then I hear him start up again. His gargling is getting louder. I better pay closer attention to him. My first order of business is finding out where it is that he's spitting whatever it is that he's gargling?
"I'll meet you upstairs," I tell my grandson, giving him a little push in the back for encouragement.
"Aww..."
"I'll get us some ice cream."
"...aww-right!"
I'm now watching my Dad with the same interest I watch those model/hostesses on The Price Is Right with. I see my father take a drink from his cup. I think he's drinking tea. He tilts his head back, gargles, and then swallows. He takes another drink, this time swishing the liquid around inside his mouth before gargling and drinking it. He does this several times.
Perhaps my father is appreciating some fine expensive wine that I don't know anything about. Just when I thought things could not get any stranger, it's turned out that my father has become a late-in-life wine connoisseur.
No, it just tea.
I think about Bruce Springstein's song Hungry Heart. It begins:
"Got a wife and kid in Baltimore, jack.
I went out for a drive and I never went back."
And then I think about my grandson waiting for me upstairs.
And I get the ice cream.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
jimduchene.blogspot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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