Sunday, May 26, 2019

Email To My Brother: Rescued

Our father told me he was happy to hear that the girl got rescued.
   “What girl, pop?” I asked him.
   He was talking about that poor girl who went on a hike in Hawaii and was lost for two weeks.
  “That’s my biggest fear about your brother when he goes on one of his hikes,” he said.
  “That he’ll get lost?”
  “That he’ll get rescued.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

Email To My Brother: Eskimo Pirates

Contemplating your upcoming cruise to Alaska, dad told me: “Son, NEVER trust an eskimo!"
     Then he told me about an eskimo tribe in Alaska that went on a robbing/killing spree, targeting tourists on a cruise. They would sail small boats to the side of the cruise ship, throw hooks over the rails, and--fat as they were--they'd climb up and over the sides. Why didn't the cruise people fight them off? There were just too many of them, hermano. They just overwhelmed the ship like the women lining up outside the courthouse to file sexual harassment charges against you. They took the captain hostage and held him for ransom on one of their boats. President Trump finally had to send FERRET Force Five--the top secret Special Ops team I used to be a member of--to rescue the captain. There were five men, plus the captain, and the FERRETs assigned six snipers to take them out. Five were to shoot the renegade eskimos, and the sixth sniper was to take out the captain should things turn south.
     I asked our father, "Is there anything you want me to tell Henry before he leaves?"
     He said, "Tell him: don’t bother coming back.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Monday, May 20, 2019

Email To My Brother: Eskimo Men

Our father, thinking about your upcoming cruise to Alaska, told me that, as an act of hospitality, eskimo men will offer male guests their wives to sleep with.
    “Really, pop?” I said.
    “Yeah," he told me. "I don’t think we’ll ever see your brother again.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Saturday, May 18, 2019

Email To My Brother: It Never Occurred To Me

SPF clothing never occurred to me.
     It was our father who gave me the idea when he noticed how much darker my left arm is compared to my right.
     “You drive in the sun all day?” he asked me between bites of his gourmet enchiladas.
     I told him I did.
     “Doesn’t your company give you shirts that protect you from the sun’s rays?” he asked.
     I told him they didn’t.
     “They should,” he said with a snort. “If your arm cooks in the sun for too long, eventually it’s going to look as bad as your brother’s face.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Email To My Brother: Who Said That?

I went looking for those SPF sleeves you were telling me about.
     I went to Big Five and a few other places at the mall. Couldn’t find them. When I asked, they’d take me to where the compression sleeves were. For basketball. You know, compression sleeves for elbows and knees. 
     I told them I wouldn’t need SPF protection playing basketball indoors, and then explained exactly what I was looking for.
     “What?” they said.
     It was like you talking with your Mac in his last few years.
     “It’s for hiking,” I further explained. 
     One clerk gave that additional thought.
     “Who told you about them?” he finally said. “Trump?”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Email To My Brother: Be Careful What You Ask For

The last time I ate at In-N-Out, by mistake, instead of asking for my burger Animal-Style, I asked for it Doggy-Style.
     It came with a picture of Chelsea Clinton.

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisiongMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Email To My Brother: Smelliness

Our sister posted on Facebook that she heard you were at death’s door with the flu, so she took over a casserole. 
     Taking a whiff in your direction, she told your wife, “You poor thing. Henry must really be sick!”
     “No,” your wife told her. “He always smells that way.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Email To My Brother: Happiness

So when are you and your wife leaving on your cruise? 
     Anyway, I spoke with our father and this is what he told me:
     “I’m so happy your brother is taking a cruise to Alaska."
     “That’s nice, pop,” I said.
     “That way, I KNOW he won’t be coming here.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Email To My Brother: Sadness

I spoke with our father this morning.
    “I’m sorry, son," he told me, "but I’m not feeling well. I’m sad your brother is going on a cruise and will be gone for so long.”
    “Don’t be sad, pop,” I told him. “Henry will be back before you know it.”
    “That’s what I’m sad about,” he said.

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Friday, May 17, 2019

Email To My Brother: A Perfect 10

Thanks, brother.
    You must have heard about how much weight I’m losing and that’s why you sent me all that leftover holiday candy.
    The next time I stand next to you, we’re going to look like the number 10.

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Email To My Brother: RIP Tim Conway

RIP Tim Conway.
    I have his autobiography. I’ve been meaning to read it. Now I’ll have to read it with a tear in my eye.
    Watching Beto O’Rourke on Tucker Carlson. Don’t know what that guy is apologizing about now. In fact, I don’t know why all the democratic candidates all seem to be apologizing. One thing you can say about Donald Trump, the guy never apologizes. He never backtracks either. He always goes full steam ahead. Right or wrong, he’s always moving forward.
    20 years married. 20 long years. I asked for 20 SHORT years, but they were out of stock. You and I, at least we can tell ourselves it’s not years spent with our first wives.
    So when are you leaving on your cruise? It seems like the trip with no beginning. I spoke with our father today, and even HE asked me, “Hasn’t that bozo left yet?

    Those were his exact words.
    “No, pop, he hasn’t,” I told him.
    “That worries me.”
    “Why? Because you think he still hasn’t gotten over the flu?”
    “No, because I’m afraid he’s thinking about visiting ME instead. Hurry up, Donald, and build that wall.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Email To My Brother: How Much Is Too Much?

Thanks for that envelope you’re sending me.
    As it turns out, I’m on vacation the next two weeks, and, since you’ll be out of town on your cruise, I could use the money to drive up to where you live, break into your house, and enjoy myself in your pool until you get back.
    When you’re on your cruise, I’m sure the friends you’re going with will ask your wife, “Is Henry still suffering with the flu?”
    “No,” your wife will assure them, “ he always poops that much.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Thursday, May 16, 2019

Email To My Brother: The Flu

I spoke with our father two Saturdays ago, he let it slip how big of a liar you are.
    He told me that you told him that you were sick with the flu for FOUR WEEKS!
     Man, are you trying to work your way into his will by making him feel sorry for you, or what? That’s probably the same strategy you use to try to get sex from your poor wife.
    I came down with the flu. I had one bad Friday at work and then spent the weekend in bed, and I was all better by Monday. Even our hypochondriac brother-in-law laughs at your ailments.
    “Don’t people die from the flu?” our father asked me about you.
    “Yes, pop,” I told him.
    “We should be so lucky.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

Email To My Brother: Your Cruise

Our father called me this morning.
    He sounded scared.
    “Oh, my God!” he said. “I just heard that FOUR people on a cruise to Alaska were KILLED in an airplane crash! Isn't your brother on a cruise to Alaska? Tell me, he wasn't one of them, was he?”
    “No, pop,” I assured him. “Henry is alive and well.”
    “Gee,” he said, “that’s too bad.”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Monday, May 13, 2019

Email To My Brother: Prayer

I spoke with our father on Monday.
     He’s always telling me how much he prays for me and my family. 
     I thanked him and told him how important his prayers are. 
     This time I asked him, “Pop, do you ever pray for Henry?”
     “I’d course I do,” he told me, surprised that I would even ask such a thing. “I pray he stays away.”
  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
   

Sunday, May 12, 2019

Email To My Brother: Big Head

I called your best friend Cali.
     “My wife's not in the business anymore,” he said, answering the phone.
     “That’s not why I’m calling,” I told him.
     “This isn't Robert Kraft?”
     “No, Cali. This is Jim. Henry’s brother.”
     “Who?”
     “Henry.”
     “The guy with the big head?”
     “Yeah,” I told him. “The reason I’m calling is I want to know the story of how my father came into possession of that hollowed out artillery shell. I heard he caught it from a passing Japanese bomber in the Philippines and saved his platoon during World War Two.”
     “Nah,” Cali told me. “That wasn’t it. What happened was a warplane was flying from Fort Bliss over our neighborhood, when they accidentally dropped that shell. We found out later it was that dork John 'Wet Start' McCain who was piloting that aircraft. Anyway, we could all see that shell falling toward us. ‘Incoming!’ Sniper Sanchez yelled as he jumped for cover under your cousin Chatita. A lot of us did. Anyway, everybody got out of the way. Everybody, that is, but your brother Henry. The artillery shell knocked him to the ground and then rolled over him from his feet to his neck. He looked like a well-squeezed tube of toothpaste with a water-balloon attached to the top. Your parents immediately took him to the hospital, your father only stopping three times. Once, for a pack of cigarettes. Then he stopped at the Jockey Club in Zaragosa for a shot of Jose Cuervo. Finally, he stopped somewhere to 'see a man about a horse,' he said. Other than that, it was immediately. ‘Give it to us straight, doc,” your father told the E.R. physician. ‘How much is it gonna cost?’ The doctor told your mom and dad not to worry, that in time your brother's body that was flattened like a squirrel in the middle of a busy intersection would slowly refill, and eventually his engorged head would shrink back to normal.”
     Cali paused.
     I could hear him holding back his tears.
     “Sadly,” he said, finally, “his head never did.”
  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

Email To My Brother: The Cigar

I spoke with dad and he told me, “Oh, man! I was so scared this morning!”
     “What happened, pop?” I asked him, a bit concerned.
     “I got up and, when I got to my bedroom door, I saw my dog in the hallway facing away from me. He was in the middle of squeezing out a big turd!”
     I was relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious than that.
     “Why did that scare you?” my enquiring mind wanted to know.
     “Because, for a moment, I thought it was YOUR BROTHER smoking a CIGAR!”

  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Hot Day

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
desertexposure.com

My father walks every day--EVERY day--rain or shine.
     Today was not only one of the shine days, but it was also one of the hot days. The VERY hot days. I try to pass along this information to him, but if there's one thing I've learned from dealing with my father, it's that I can't deal with my father.

    "Pop," I tell him, "it's hot outside."

    "No, it's not."
    "Sure it is."
    "No, it's not."
    "I was just outside. It's hot."
    "It feels cool to me."
    "It feels cool to you because you're inside the house. Outside, it's hot."
    My father isn't listening to me. He's trying on the new pair of Nikes I brought him from Tucson.
    "Oh, yeah," he tells himself, "these feel good. It's just what I needed."
    He stands up. Does a little high-stepping around the island in the kitchen.
    "They fit perfectly," he tells me, heading toward the door. "I'll see you later."
    I try to distract him.
    "You know, pop, my wife will be down in a few minutes. You don't want to wait for breakfast first?"
    "For what?"
    "For breakfast?"
    "Are you going to make it for me?"
    "Er… ah… um..." I say.
    I've learned if I can distract my father long enough, he'll forget what he wants to do and will settle down, watch TV, or maybe take a nap. There's no distracting him today.
    "That’s what I thought," he says. "I'll go on my walk first." He's really excited about trying out his new shoes. He's like a big kid.
    I'm really regretting buying him those Nikes. No good deed may go unpunished, but it can also cause you a lot of inconvenience as well.
    So off he goes.
    Meanwhile, my wife shows up. A minute late, but not a dollar short. It’s our bank account that suffers from that ailment.
    "You want breakfast?" she asks.
    I have a very beautiful wife. I look at her. She's wearing cotton pajamas that are a size too big. The sleeves go past her wrists and halfway down her hand. The pajama bottoms drag on the ground. She looks awfully cute.
    "Well...  I AM hungry," I tell her.
    She knows what kind of meal I’m talking about, so she changes the subject.  
    "Where's dad?" she says.
    "Walking," I admit.
    "Walking?"
   "Yes," I say, knowing where this is going. “Walking.”
    "So you let him go on a walk?"
    "I didn't let him. He went."
    "But it's hot."
    "He didn't think so."
    "It's VERY hot."
    "He thought it was cool."
    "Yes, inside the house it's cool, but outside it's hot."
    “That’s what I told him,” I say, starting to get agitated, “but you know my father. If there was a way I could have kept him from going out on his walk, I would have."
    That's the thing about my father. He affects so many aspects of my life. My wife and I are sniping at each other, not because we're actually irritated with each other, but because our lives are essentially put on hold. I can't kiss my wife good morning without my father sticking his nose between us asking if his dog has been fed yet.
    I look at it this way: I have a window of opportunity to do certain things, and that window is closing way too fast for my taste. By inviting my father into my home to live with us, I've limited the things I can do. I can't hike as often as I would like. That would mean leaving my wife to deal with my father all by herself. He would drive her nuts, and that’s MY job. So I hike when I can, and I wait for my father to come back from his walks the rest of the time.  
    "Should I fix something or what?" she says.
    "I would guess 'or what'."
    So we make the best of a bad situation. I make two cups of coffee. She likes sugar and cream. I prefer mine black. I grab the newspaper. She picks up a novel she's been dying to read. Michael Connelly’s The Late Show. We go outside to the front patio where there's shade and it's still cool.
    I sit down. Single out the Sports Section. My wife sits down and opens her book to the first page.
    And THAT’S the exact moment my father comes back.
    "Man," he tells us, wiping his forehead with the baseball cap he was wearing. Detroit. Like Tom Selleck in Magnum PI. Not the new guy. "It's hot out there."
    "Did you have a nice walk, dad?" my wife says, trying to be nice.
    He ignores her question completely.
    “Is there anything cold to drink?" he asks her. "That sun was BURNING."
    My wife gets up to get him his drink. “Your wish is my command,” is what she should say, but she’s too polite.
    "I told you," I say.
    "You told me what?"
    "That it was hot."
    "When did you tell me that?"
    "Just before you left."
    He ignores that. I don't know if he doesn't hear what I say, or if he just ignores the things he doesn't want to acknowledge.
    "I should have had breakfast," he says, shaking his head and sitting down in my wife’s chair. "I could have gone for a walk later, when the sun cooled down."
    He looks at his new shoes, and shakes his head some more.
    "I don't know about these shoes,” he says. “They hurt my feet."
   
You know what else hurts?
My pride.
I ease my pain at RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com, JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com, or @JimDuchene.