In MY Day

"What are you doing, son?"

     My elderly father saw me being distracted by my phone and took his eyes off the baseball game we were both watching to ask me about it.

     "I'm just fiddling with a phone ap, dad," I explained.

     "Oh... a phone ap," my dad said, nodding his head. "Whatever that is."

     I decided to ignore that.

     "It's pretty cool,"  I told him. "If I want to know what the weather is like, I can just look at the ap and it will tell me."

     "In my day," my dad said, turning back to the TV, "we just looked outside."

 

 

Raising My Father

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JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

 

Once And Once Again

I've come across a rare brandy called Pierre Duchene only twice in my life.
     The first time was when my aunt came back from a vacation and generously brought my father--her brother--a bottle.
     Sadly, that bottle was broken. The story of how it was broken depends on whether you heard my father's version of the events or my mother's.
     Back when she was still alive, that is.
     The next time I came across a bottle of that particular brandy was years later when my much older and less attractive brother found it when he, in an interesting coincidence, was also on vacation. Like our aunt, he, too, was generous enough to bring back a bottle for each of his siblings, as well as replacing our parent's broken one.
     Between you and I, it was probably his wife who actually bought the brandy, and the most my brother did was take credit for it.
     But you didn't hear that from me.
     Recently, I took my father to one of his many doctor visits, and, in a rare show of generosity himself, he  took the special bottle of Pierre Duchene as a thank-you gift for his doctor.
     "What's Henry going to do when he finds out you gave away the brandy he gave you?" I asked, teasing him.
     "Who's going to tell him?"
     "I am."
     My father considered that.
     "He'll just buy me another one," he concluded.
     When he offered the bottle to his doctor, my father told him, "I'd like you have this bottle of brandy. It's from my uncle's distillery in France. It has his name on it."
     That was a completely made-up story. I don't even know who Pierre Duchene is or if he ever actually existed. Telling such a fabrication is out of character for my father, one of the most honest individuals I've ever known.
     At least, he used to be.
      I don't know if the doctor bought the story or not. My father is in his upper nineties, so how old would that have made his uncle? Still, the doctor was appreciative.
     "Thank you, Mr. Duchene," he told my father. "I appreciate it, I really do, but it's probably better if the bottle stays with you. Besides the familial connection, the truth is, I'm not a brandy drinker. I tried it once, and I didn't like it."
     "Well, I'd like to get you something," my father insisted. "How about a box of cigars?"
     "I tried cigars once--Cubans, in fact--but I didn't like them either."
     Just then, there was a knock at the door and a younger doctor walked in.
     "Mr. Duchene, let me introduce you to my daughter. Some day, when I retire, she'll take over my practice."
     "Please to meet you," my father said, standing up to shake her hand. "I bet you're an only child."
 
 

Raising My Father

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JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

 

A Fortune Cookie Coincidence?

Many years ago, back when my lovely mother was still alive and my beautiful wife and I still considered ourselves newlyweds, we took both of our parents to a Chinese restaurant to give them the happy news that we were expecting our first baby.
     My wife and I were both nervous about surprising them with the revelation that they were about to become grandparents, so we made it all the way to the end of the meal without spilling the beans.
     The check came on a little black plastic tray that also held a fortune cookie for each of us. My father and father-in-law immediately began bickering over who would pay for the meal.
     "Hmm," I thought to myself, "I should invite them out to dinner more often."
     Grabbing one of the fortune cookies, I broke it open.
     Inside, my fortune read:
 

What you do in private will soon be public.

 

     Hmm... indeed.

   
   

Raising My Father

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JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

 

The Least We Could Do

I'm not cheap.
     I'm frugal.
     It's a condition I got from my father.
     When we--my wife and I--invited him to move in and spend the rest of his elderly life with us, I thought the most it would cost me would be a tank of gas, the gas it would take to move his stuff from his place to ours.
     My wife had other ideas.
     All of his old furniture was fine when it was in his house, but in our house it was obvious he needed an upgrade. Why, his mattress alone seemed to date back to prehistoric times. I think he originally got it by hitting a caveman over the head with a rock.
     My wife thought the least we could do for him was buy him a new bedroom set.
     "It'll make him feel more at home," she explained.
     I thought about that.
     "Maybe, on our way to the furniture store, we can stop someplace so I can buy myself a new wallet," I told her. "One with money in it."
     "You don't need a new wallet," she said.
     So we went straight to the furniture store, one that always seemed to be going out of business. Personally, I think they found a successful advertising slogan and decided to stick with it. My father looked around and found the perfect bed. It originally cost $2000, but was reduced to $500, mattress and box-spring included.
     Hmm... maybe they really were in trouble.
     Well, I thought it was a good deal, and my wife thought it was a good deal. My father, however, wasn't satisfied with the discount.
     "I'll give you a hundred," he told our salesman.
     "Mr. Duchene," the salesman said patiently, "we're going out of business, not out of our minds."
 
 

Raising My Father

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JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene