RaisingDad

Back before television, there was a family sitcom on the radio called The Bickersons .      As my parents got older, they reminded me more and more of the two main characters. There wasn't a story my dad wanted to tell that my mother wouldn't correct him on, and there wasn't a place my mother wanted to go that my father wouldn't tell her, "Go without me."      One Saturday morning, I thought I'd invite them to breakfast at a restaurant of their choice. As usual, my father wanted to stay home, but my mother eventually nagged him into it.      My father already knew what he wanted, something from the three main food groups: cows, chickens, and pigs. In other words, steak and eggs with a side of bacon. To this day, my father's heart is perfectly healthy. Me, on the other hand, if I eat lettuce my cholesterol goes through the roof. Go figure.      As my mother and I looked at the menu, he jus...

At 18, you could say I was feeling my oats.      It was the late 70’s, and Congress—in their wisdom—had just lowered the drinking age, so my buddies and I thought we’d do our patriotic duty and throw back a few.      My father only had 2 rules for me: 1) don’t miss my curfew, and 2) don’t drink. Unfortunately, he didn’t add another rule to that short list: 3) don’t be stupid. If he had, I might not have broken the first 2.      To his credit, my father—whose belt not only held up his pants, but was also in charge of administering justice—didn’t overreact. In fact, he even let me sleep it off.      When I woke up the next afternoon, hung over didn’t even begin to describe how bad I felt. I didn’t think I was hung over, I thought I was dying. I felt so bad, my teeth even hurt.      “Hung over?” my Dad asked. He was a man of a few words.      “Yeah,” I answe...

All day long my father has been in a crappy mood.      I don't know what he has to complain about, the way I look at it the guy's got it made. He doesn't have to worry about food or bills or anything, really. It all gets taken care of for him. My wife cleans his room, makes his bed, fixes his meals. She makes sure the TV is always set on his favorite channels. How she keeps track of what he likes to watch and at what time, I don't know.      From personal experience, I know that age has a way of robbing you of a good night's sleep. It used to be when I went to bed at night, I would wake up with enough vim and vigor to pester my wife in the morning, if you get my drift. Now I wake up, and, while the desire is still there, it's accompanied with various aches and pains. If I sleep too long on my right side, my arm will hurt. If I sleep too long on my back, my back will hurt.      And I know my father feels the same way. ...

Over at my Twitter account, they sent me a suggestion that I might want to follow Oasis Senior Advisor. I thought, "Why does Twitter assume I'm at an age where I'd want to follow accounts geared toward the elderly?"      I read the message all the way to the bottom, thinking it might say, "This is for your brother," but it didn't. I figured if Twitter knew I was at an advanced age, it might also know that I have a brother who was in more need of the information. He's not as old as I am, he just looks that way.      Taking my train of thought to its logical conclusion, I decided that if Twitter wanted to send him a message via me, it wouldn't be some senior advice account, it would be from the Oasis Getting No Booty Advisor.      I also take umbrage with the word "Oasis" as the name of that senior advisor account. That implies that old age is a wonderful thing. Something to be looked forward to. Youth is a harsh, lifeles...