as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
RaisingDad
by Jim and Henry Duchene
Imagine That
“good thing dogs aren’t particular”
When I was a kid, I must have driven my parents crazy. When they took me to the store, I was always asking them for something. Spiderman comic books. The Man From UNCLE camera that turned into a gun.
And candy.
I was always asking for candy.
"You'll ruin your teeth!" my mother would warn me.
"If I can't have candy,” I thought to myself, “what's the point of having good teeth?"
This was before I discovered girls, and how they had the annoying habit of preferring guys with good dental hygiene.
I remember one Christmas, when I was about ten, I pestered my parents for a chemistry set that was probably more than they could afford.
“Aren’t you too old to believe in Santa Claus?” my father wanted to know.
But on Christmas morning... there it was.
Did I play with it?
Not even once.
I take that back.
I didn’t bother with it once I discovered I couldn’t make a bomb. What I was planning to blow up, I have no idea.
Cut to the present.
As Clarence Carter sings in his heartbreaking song Patches, the angels have long ago taken my mother to a brand new home. It’s unusual for husbands to outlive their wives, but sometimes that’s just the way things work out. When that happened to my father, my beautiful wife, saint that she is, insisted we invite him to move in with us. He was at our door with his luggage packed even before we were done making the offer.
Let’s just say it’s been an adventure.
He doesn’t have many hobbies, but one thing he does enjoy is accompanying my wife to Costco, where you don't buy ONE thing, you buy A LOT of one thing. When he goes with her, they usually come back with stuff we don't need. Vitamins. Tools. Socks. All courtesy of my father. One time he wanted a box containing 48 corn dogs. My wife bought it for him. She always does.
He ate ONE.
The rest have taken up space in our freezer ever since. I’ve started feeding them to my father’s dog. He seems to enjoy them. He doesn’t even mind that they’re frozen.
The last time they went, I tagged along. Just to keep him out of trouble.
“Don’t touch anything,” he used to tell me when I was a kid. I laugh at that now because he touches EVERYTHING. I saw him pick up a pack of white tube socks. He doesn’t wear white tube socks. He only wears black socks. Even with shorts. Then he saw me seeing him, so he put them back. In another aisle he looked at the Rogaine. My father's hair has thinned a bit, but he doesn't need it. Again, he looked over at me. Back at the Rogaine. And then put it back.
Same with the gourmet cheese.
I don’t even know why he was looking at gourmet cheese. He suffers equally from lactose intolerance and constipation, so his cheese-eating days are behind him. A man can dream, I suppose.
At the frozen foods section, he found something he liked. A box of 120 frozen cream puff balls. Enough for a small wedding. He must have really wanted those, because he craned his neck searching for my wife. She’s the one he usually asks when he wants something. Again, let me take that back. He doesn’t ask. He just drops whatever catches his fancy into our shopping cart where it will magically be paid for.
Unfortunately, there was only me.
"These are really good," he said, in a just-making-conversation kind of way.
I don’t think he’s ever eaten one before in his life. The reason I say that is because I’ve never seen either of my parents eat one. When anyone went out, neither of them ever said, “Bring me back a cream puff!”
"I wonder how much they are," he asked no one in particular. He continued studying the box. Flipping it around in his hands. Turning it this way and that. Reading the back. "Hmm…" he muttered, coming to a scientific conclusion. “It’s all natural.”
I just stood there. So did my father. The box of cream puffs in his hands. There was an awkward pause. Finally...
"Son," he asked me, "do you think I can have this?"
Imagine that.
My father.
Asking me for something.
He’s never asked me for anything before in his life.
"Sure, pop," I told him, remembering the chemistry set he bought me so long ago. “Put it in the cart."
I sure hope his dog likes cream puffs.
************************
What’s the best thing to put into a cream puff?
Your teeth.
@JimDuchene
