The Bickersons

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 just buried himself behind the newspaper, his usual morning ritual. Almost immediately, the bickering started.

     "You never listen to me when I'm telling you something," my mother told him.

     "What?" my father answered.

     "I said you never listen to me."

     "Of course I do," my father assured her, but not taking his eyes off the newspaper.

     "No, you don't."

     "Yes, I do."

     I felt like I was the substitute teacher for a class of third-graders. My mother picked up her menu, and got in one more grumble, "No, you don't."

     "What?" my father said.

     Exasperated, she complained, "I'm getting a headache."

     "Go ahead, honey," my father told her, still reading. "Get whatever you want."

 

Raising My Father

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