My father always told me, "Son, if you're going to start something, start from the beginning." I think that's pretty good advice. Especially for reading these stories.
Email To My Brother: Not A Flesh-Eating Bacteria
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Our father asked me if the Coronavirus was a flesh-eating bacteria.
My father and I went to visit a friend of his in the nursing facility he now lives at, b ut I told you that last week. In the middle of our visit, we were asked to leave the room while someone from the office came by for a little talk. I'm assuming it had something to do with his having pulled the fire alarm, and I'm assuming it went something like, "DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!" Those are MY capitalizations. "What was that all about?" my father asked him when we were let back inside. "I have no idea," his friend said. When it comes to dealing with my father, who's been diagnosed pre-Alzheimer's, I've learned to just go with the flow. Whatever he tells me, I just accept that's what's true for him in the moment. It saves a lot of aggravation. On his part, as well as mine. My father? He has other ideas. ...
The last Saturday before Christmas was busy. By the time I got home it was dark. My wife was already in bed watching something on her tablet. I'd tell you what, but I've forgotten. That's nothing unusual. I can forget any number between one and ten just by counting scoops of coffee into my coffee maker. My wife, on the other hand, says I don't listen to her, or some such nonsense. My two daughters were getting ready to go out and my granddaughter was by herself watching Home Alone in the living room. On the TV screen, a young girl was busy miscounting the children. Personally, I’ve never cared for Home Alone . With the exception of John Candy, there’s not one likable person in it. Sure, little Kevin is cute, but do you really like him? In a reflective moment inside a church, even he admits he’s a bit of a turd. I wanted to get on...
Not only does my father come up with the occasional amusingly snide remark, my girls are also pretty snarky themselves. They always come up with an unintentionally witty quip that makes me laugh. I’m trying to cut down on bread, sugar, and fried foods per my doctor’s orders, but it’s hard. My wife, who I love dearly, always takes the doctor’s side, so she’s adjusted her shopping habits so that everything in the kitchen is low-fat except for me. “Why doesn’t healthy food keep you full?” I complained to her, chewing on a celery stick for a snack. “You know what keeps ME full?” my granddaughter said. “ Candy! ” As if I don’t have enough pennies weighing down the pockets of my jeans, my youngest daughter will also throw in her 2 cents of a more mature nature. Before our trip to Mexico, I asked my doctor to prescribe something to nix a...
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