as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
RaisingDad
by Jim and Henry Duchene
It’s The Little Things
“you’re never too old to learn”
It's not the big things that drive you nuts... it's the little things.
When I first asked my elderly father to move in with us, I knew there would be a period of adjustment. What I didn't know was just how long that period of adjustment would be. Here it is, years later, and I'm still adjusting.
My father?
He's doing just fine.
My father had been the head of his household well into his 80's. Myself, I've been in charge of my own life since I turned 18, when I put what I learned in my high school geography class to use and went to college out of state.
As a kid, I learned early on that no one was allowed to touch my father's morning newspaper until he was finished reading it, and, believe me, he took a looong time to read it.
"Pop," I would ask him, "can I have the comics?"
"No," he would answer.
My father was a firm believer in brevity.
It didn't matter that he never read the comics, or that I would be done with it by the time he was ready to read Dear Abby, which was featured in the same section. He liked reading about other people's problems. It amused him so many people were willing to hang out their dirty laundry for everyone to see.
Personally, I'm not so strict. If any of my kids want to share the newspaper with me, I’m just happy they enjoy being in my company.
However, when my father first moved in with me, the newspaper quickly became a point of contention between the two of us. You see, I also enjoy reading the newspaper first thing in the morning. My father, however, if he gets to the newspaper before I do, he's like a dog guarding his bone. Grrr...
Like I said, it's one of those little things that drives me nuts.
How did I deal with it?
Well, to tell you that story, I first have to tell you this story: When I was 12, and prone to overestimating my abilities, we went on a family vacation to the beach.
"Don't swim out too far," my mother warned me.
Did I listen?
Of course not. I knew everything.
Needless to say, I immediately swam out further than I should have. When I tried to swim back, I noticed for every three feet I swam forward, the waves dragged me back four. It didn't matter how hard I swam, I kept being pulled further and further back into the ocean. Any further, and I'd have ended up being just another face on a milk carton.
Oh, sure, I could have yelled for help, but that would have been embarrassing. Thinking about it now, I wonder how many swimmers have drowned because they were too self-conscious to cry out for help, but that wasn't what was on my mind when I was treading water, desperately trying to make it back to shore. It didn't look good. My arms and legs felt like wet noodles. I was getting nowhere fast.
Did I survive?
Well, I'm writing this story, aren't I?
What to do? What to do?
"Don’t be stupid!" I imagined my father chastising me.
So I put my about-to-panic brain to work and came up with a plan. I swam WITH the ocean when the waves were moving forward toward the beach, and when the waves moved back toward the open sea, I stopped swimming and rested. Eventually, I made it back to dry land. My arms and legs trembling from exhaustion. I survived because I decided to stop fighting the waves and worked with them instead. And THAT’S what I decided to do with my father, himself a force of nature. I would work with him, not fight against him.
So now, on those mornings when I get to the newspaper first, I try to be gracious. I offer my father the sections I'm not reading. On the mornings when my father gets to the newspaper before I do, I choose not to argue or get angry, because it IS a choice, after all. Why ruin everybody's day?
My father is an old man. I’ve learned that if his only pleasure in life is having the morning newspaper to himself, I can live with that.
I tell you this because just this morning I was watching TV in the den. In my favorite chair was my father, hogging the newspaper as usual. A commercial for herpes medication came on. In it were people who were swimming and hiking and dancing. Some were busy negotiating important business deals, some were vacationing in exotic lands, and others were enjoying romantic dinners.
“I guess the ‘S’ in STD must stand for success,” I told my father.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing,” I answered.
Separating a section from the newspaper, he held it toward me.
“You want the comics?” he asked.
I guess he's learned a few things, too.
************************
I had a handle on life, but it broke.
@JimDuchene
