How Are YOU Feeling?

My elderly father and I were visiting his younger brother in the hospital, and, like my uncle's residency here on earth, we were ready to go. I could tell my father wanted to leave by the way he kept inching closer to the door. My uncle, however, is just as oblivious to visual and verbal clues as my father is.

     "So," he asked his older brother, "how are you feeling?"

     This got my father's attention, because if there's one thing my father likes to talk about, it's himself.

     "Well," my father answered, shaking his head sadly. "I'm pretty sick myself."

     This came as something of a surprise to me. I only go with him to all of his doctor appointments, of which there are many, and he is always given a clean bill of health. For his age, that is.

     "You're not sick, dad," I corrected him.

     "Yes, I am," he corrected me back.

     "No, you're not."

     My poor uncle laid there looking at us point and counter-point, his head swiveling from side to side to side to side as if he was watching a Ping-Pong tournament.

     "Well, I'd better be sick," my father finally said in his I'm-Tired-Of-This tone of voice.

     "Why the heck do you want to be sick?" I asked, enquiring minds wanted to know.

     "Because," he explained, "I'd hate to be well and feel this crappy."

   

 

Raising My Father

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