It's Healthier If I Do

I don't know if my father is exceptionally funny or incredibly rude. Having to live with him, it's healthier for my sanity if I think he's funny.
     When we were visiting my sick uncle at the hospital, my father reached over and grabbed his younger brother by the wrist. He then looked at his own wrist, as if he were a doctor taking a patient's pulse.
     "Either you're dead," he told him, "or my watch has stopped."
     We all got a good laugh out of that one because he was imitating Groucho Marx and we were all big Groucho fans. The Marx Brothers made some of the rare movies that my father and I have been able to bond over. Even Zeppo couldn't ruin them for us.
     Sadly, that didn't cheer my uncle up for long.
     "It's not good news," he told us, gravely.
     "What is it?" I asked him, but I already knew. The news of his illness had already made its way through the Family grapevine.
     "Cancer," he told me.
     I nodded my head in sympathy. He then looked at my father, who was always considered the head of the clan.
     "Do you think there's anything I can do?" he asked him, hopefully.
     "Well," my father told him, "I could take you to Truth Or Consequences for some therapeutic mud baths."
     Truth Or Consequences is a small town in New Mexico that is known for its natural mineral springs that shoot up hot out of the ground. A lot of people, sick and healthy, go there for a dip in its healing waters.
     "Do you think that will help?" my uncle asked.
     "Probably not," my father answered, "but it will help you get used to lying in dirt."
 
 

Raising My Father

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