Four More Stories

  as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine

RaisingDad

by Jim and Henry Duchene

Four More Stories

“not one to be chastised”

 

...one...

I had an 8 o’clock appointment.

     It was on the other side of town, so I left early to avoid rush hour traffic. Too early, as it turned out, because I got there with a lot of time to kill. A LOT of time. Stopping at a local coffee shop, I asked for their Wi-Fi password.

    "Buy something first," the owner told me.

    I thought that was kind of blunt, but fair enough. After paying for my order, I laughed when I read the password on the receipt. 

It said: "BuySomething1st!”

    You see, my friends, technology is for the young.

    I might have a smartphone, but I don't really know how to use it. If I do ten percent of what my phone is capable of, I'd be surprised.

     The other day, I forgot my phone as I left the house. No problem. It made for a day of less distractions. When I got back home someone had thoughtfully placed it on my nightstand. I figured it was my wife. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s very thoughtful that way.

Turns out I was wrong.

     Checking my messages, I found one from my father, who NEVER texts me. He wrote: "Found your phone. I left it on your nightstand."

...two...

You can file this under Kids Are Spoiled These Days:

     When my daughter and her eight-year-old went to the store to buy me a birthday card, it took a while. My granddaughter was in no rush. She looked at one card and then another. Opening them up and quickly putting them back. My daughter thought she was just enjoying the funny pictures.

     "Haven't you found a card for grandpa yet?" my daughter finally asked, trying to hurry her along.

     "I’m looking for one with money in it,” my granddaughter explained.

...three...

The recent rash of celebrity deaths reminds me of how my father has become rather fond of attending funerals. It gives him something to do. He socializes with friends and family he hasn't seen in awhile, and the food is usually good. 

In my opinion, free food is ALWAYS good.

     At one recent funeral, the family went all out. Instead of a potluck where everybody brought something, the family of the deceased had it catered. I noticed that my father went back time after time for seconds, thirds, and even fourths.

     "You're going back AGAIN?” I asked him when he got up for the fifth time.

     "Why not?" he asked me back.

     "People will think you’re a pig," I told him.

     "Not me," he laughed. "I've been telling them it's for YOU."

...four...

When we were younger my father got pulled over for speeding. I take full responsibility for that.

     You see, my brother and I were VERY rambunctious as young boys, and he had to spend half of his driving time threatening us in the backseat to get us to stop fighting with one another.

     It was a stormy night, as this memory takes place, and the police officer who pulled us over peered through my father's window into the backseat at us. In his yellow rain slicker, it was obvious he was not happy to be doing his job.

     "Isn't it stupid of you to be speeding with your sons in the car?" he chastised my father.

     My father isn't one to be chastised.

     "Maybe," he told the police officer, "but I’m not the one standing in the rain."

  

 ************************

How is the moon like my father’s dentures?

They both come out at night.

theduchenebrothers@gmail.com

@JimDuchene

Four Stories

  as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine

RaisingDad

by Jim and Henry Duchene

Four Stories

“and one strict old coot”

 

My father was one strict old coot. My brothers and I had it tough growing up, but our sisters had it worse.

When my older sister was going on her first date, my father wasn't about to let her stay out until all hours of the morning. When the boy came by to pick her up, my father made it clear that he wanted her back home before twelve, "and I'll be waiting to make sure that she is.”

The kid was respectful. He recognized a potential kick in the behind when he saw one, but as soon as they were outside he asked my sister, "What happens at midnight? You turn into a pumpkin?"

"No," my sister told him, "but you better have me home before twelve because you don't want to find out what my father turns into."

 ************************

My elderly, pre-Alzheimer's father's memory is not so great. Neither is mine, for that matter, but that's neither here nor there.

Back when I trusted his driving but he didn’t trust mine, we were on a road trip to visit family in another town and we couldn't find the street we were looking for. Today, I could tap the address into my phone and let it do all the work, but I’m sure he wouldn’t trust that either. 

We stopped at a convenience store so my father could see a man about a horse, if you get my drift. On our way out my father asked the clerk. "By any chance do you know where such and such street is?"

The clerk did.

"You want me to write it down?" I asked, trying to be helpful.

"I'll remember," my father sniffed indignantly.

We jumped back into the car and immediately got turned around. It wasn't my father's fault. The streets were convoluted. We didn’t find the street we were looking for, but we did find the convenience store again. My father pulled into the parking lot, just to the side of the door where he couldn't be seen.

He told me, "Go inside and get directions."

As I opened the door and started to get out, he stopped me.

"And don't forget to write it down," he said.

 ************************

My granddaughter is eight now, but when the pandemic was in full swing she said something that gave me a chuckle.

She's not a picky eater, but she won't eat what she doesn't like. She WILL, however, give something a try. When I was a kid, if I didn’t like something I would just drown it in ketchup.

"What's that?" my granddaughter asked.

I was eating and she didn't recognize the food.

"Liver," I told her. "You want some?"

"Sure," she said, so I cut her a small piece.

By the look of disgust on her face, I could see she didn't like it.

"Ugh!" she said, spitting it out. "It tastes like COVID!"

 ************************

I had to get my father somewhere fast, so of course my car had a flat. Sure, I could have changed the tire myself, but my father was being feisty so it was easier to get on my smartphone and order a ride. In the middle of everything, someone sent me a text. It said, "I'm here for you."

Gee, that was thoughtful, so I texted back, "Thanks, I needed that. Maybe my father’s doctor will have some good news for a change. The enemas I have to give him for his constipation isn't going to be any fun, but what can I do? I asked the doc how bad it was going to be. He said it would be "explosive." And "messy." And who's going to have to clean it up? Me. He's MY father, so I can't expect my wife to do it. Again, thanks for the support, but I've gotta go. We’re waiting for the Uber driver."

"I AM the Uber driver," came the reply, "and I'm here for you."

 

 ************************

The secret to being smoking hot in your old age?

Cremation.

theduchenebrothers@gmail.com

@JimDuchene

Red Face Turning Redder

  as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine

RaisingDad

by Jim and Henry Duchene

Red Face Turning Redder

“say hi to mom for me”

 

For a few minutes, I thought I was going to receive my inheritance, but before I tell you THAT story let me tell you this one:

     When my beloved mother was still alive she and my father were watching their favorite soap opera, As The Stomach Turns or some such nonsense. She had made my father a nice chicken sandwich, and he was sitting there simultaneously eating his food and complaining about how stupid the characters were on the show. 

     "Don't talk while you're eating," my mother told him, mainly because she had served him poultry, not seafood. 

(SEE food. Get it?)

My father was offended.

     "I'm not talking while I'm..."

     All of a sudden, he started choking on a piece of chicken.

     "I warned you not to talk while you're eating," my mother scolded him, thinking it wasn't as serious as it was.

     My father made no reply. His eyes were starting to bulge. He couldn’t breathe. Air was going neither in nor out. A chunk of chicken wedged in your windpipe will do that.

     He grabbed his throat with both hands in the international sign of choking, although I'm sure he did it more by accident than by rational thought. Who can be rational when they're in the middle of choking to death?

     My mother started to panic, and in her panic she grabbed the TV remote. She was going to turn the TV off, the noise was too distracting. That's when my father angrily made the international sign of You'd Better Not Turn Off The TV!

     He finally coughed out whatever had gotten stuck, took a few breaths of oxygen... and then started eating his chicken sandwich again.

     When my mother told me this story, I turned to my father and asked him why he got so angry with her for trying to turn off the TV set.

     "If I was gonna die," he explained, "I wanted to die watching TV."

     Well, he had his reasons, I guess. 

     Anyway...

     My father and I were having dinner. He was sitting in his favorite chair at the head of the table (MY chair. At least, it used to be.). I was eating at the kitchen island. The older my father gets, the more noises he seems to make when he's eating, and it kind of grosses me out. Smack! Slurp! Ack! I try to ignore it. Smack! Sometimes I can. Sluuurp! Sometimes I can't. Ack!

     I looked over at my father who was eating with great enthusiasm. He usually does. He was really packing that food away. I can't blame him. My wife's a good cook. In fact, she's a great cook. I wanted to tell her that myself, but she wasn’t there. She left to meet a few of her friends for a Zumba exercise class, whatever that is. She doesn't invite me, because she knows I would girl-watch more than I would Zumba. I don't know why she thinks she needs to take that class, however.

     "You look fine," I tell her.

     "I'm fat," she tells me back.

     "You're not fat."

     "I need to lose weight."

     "You don't need to lose weight."

     "Yes, I do."

     "No, you don't."

     "Yes, I do."

     And on it goes. 

Truthfully, she doesn't need to lose weight. She's done a fine job of staying fit all these years, better than I have, but even if she did lose weight what good does that do me? Being married to her is like owning a Ferrari I can only drive once a week, if you get my drift.

That reminds me of a joke I wrote for Jackie “The Joke Man” Martling:

An elderly lady asks her equally elderly husband, “Would you like to have sex with a wrinkly old man?”

“Heck no!”

“Then what makes you think I want to?”

But let me get back to my story.

     So I was alone in the house with my father and he started coughing…

     "Are you okay, pop?"

     ...and coughing... 

     I got up to help, not quite sure how, but he waved me off.

     "I'm fine, I'm fine," he sort of said.

     ...and that’s when he REALLY started coughing, his red face turning redder. 

     I was busy trying to remember: Is it two compressions and fifteen breaths, or is it two breaths and fifteen compressions? Should I do the Heimlich? Call 911? The Pope? Will I be required to give him the Kiss of Life? I sure hope I don’t have to give him the Kiss of Life.

     Something was stuck in his throat and he was having a hard time dislodging it, along with whatever else that might have been hanging around in there due to the nasty cold I've been telling you about that he had and was still trying to get over. All that green slimy stuff, and who knows what else.

     Finally, before I could do anything heroic that my beautiful wife could reward me for, he settled down, crisis averted. I don’t know how long what happened took, but the time seemed to pass super slow and super fast all at once. I don’t know how else to explain it. My father, meanwhile, took a sip of water…

     …and then continued to eat! 

     My mother hadn’t exaggerated the story she told me for the sake of making it better.

     As he shoveled a spoonful of food into his mouth he hoarsely mumbled something to me.

     "What?" I asked, immediately kicking myself because I was aware I could have set him off on another coughing spree.

     "I TOLD you I was fine," he grumbled.

     So much for my inheritance.

   

 ************************

Drowning, choking, and suffocating are breathtaking experiences.

theduchenebrothers@gmail.com

@JimDuchene

Team Edward Vs The Common Cold

  as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine

RaisingDad

by Jim and Henry Duchene

Team Edward Vs The Common Cold

“I Like The Dark”

   

Well, my father had been sick for several days.

     We warned him, but he didn't listen (The Sky Is Black! 1-23). He continued on his walks. In the cold. In the wet. It didn't matter. We asked him not to. It mattered less. We told him not to, but he knows better. He always knows better. He was determined to walk his illness away. He thinks walking will help him live forever, but it just might be the death of him. 
     I was sitting in the den. All the lights were off. The drapes were closed. I like the dark. I guess that makes me Team Edward. 

     Google it.

     I swear, my father must have a Chinese spy balloon somewhere inside our house, because he'll stay in his little in-law house at the front of our property until one of us, mainly me, enters the kitchen. Then, seconds later, he'll stroll right in. My theory is he is constantly monitoring us via an Apple AirTag he secretly acquired on the geriatric black market. As soon as he knows we're moving around, he gets moving as well. Out of his house and into ours. 
     I was drinking a cup of hot chocolate.

     Why not my usual gourmet coffee, you ask?

     You sure do ask a lot of questions, my friend.

     Well... sometimes life is more than the status quo, but, I'll admit, I dump a heaping teaspoon of instant coffee to my cocoa to add a little kick.
     "Why don't you just have coffee?" my beautiful, but bossy, wife will ask me.
     "Because I don't want coffee," I'll explain. How can she have lived with me for so long and not understand? 

     You’ll think I’m crazy, but sometimes I'll even sprinkle a spoonful of instant coffee over vanilla ice cream as well. 
     "You know, they sell coffee ice cream.”
     "Pop doesn't like coffee ice cream.”
     "What does that have to do with anything?"
     "Only everything," I say.

     With my wife upstairs, and not downstairs passing judgement on my culinary choices, I was peacefully watching the History Channel.

     Is life good or what?
     No sooner did I get relaxed, than I heard the door in the kitchen open. A second later my father walked in. How did he know I was there? 

     I rest my case. 
     As he entered, I could hear him breathing heavily through a runny and congested nose. How is it even possible to have both at the same time?
     Sniffle, sniffle! Cough, cough, cough! 
     He walked right by me...
     Cough, cough, cough! 
     ...and made it to his favorite chair a few feet away. I sat still, trying to hold my breath until the germs settled on the floor, but within seconds of sitting--Achoo! Achoo!--he began all over again. Cough, cough, coughing with no attempt to cover up. Is that just part of getting old? The older you get the more you forget to cover your mouth? Or do you just no longer care?
     I didn't want to hurt his feelings by leaving, so I started hoping for a distraction. It was a long fifteen minutes of listening to his bodily exclamations. 
     Cough, cough! Achoo! Sniffle, sniffle, sniffle! 
     Finally, salvation. My wife showed up.
     "Hi, honey," I told her, got up, gave her a kiss, and used Newton’s First Law of Motion to walk out of the room. As I was exiting, I heard my wife tell my father good morning. 

     “Achoo!” he answered.

     I went upstairs and into the master bathroom to wash my face and hands. I can't afford to get sick. I have road trips to take and hiking to do. 
     When my wife is sick, she stays in her room. When I'm sick, I stay in my room. But not my father. He loves to spread his joy around. Not to mention his germs. When he's sick he likes to be in the middle of a room full of people just so he can yell at everyone to shut up. 
     "Why don't you go to your room?" we'll tell him.
     "Why would I want to do that?" he'll tell us.
     "Because it's quiet."
     "It's quiet here."
     "You just told us to shut up."
     "Well, it's quiet now."
     "You can rest."
     "I'm resting now."
     "You can lay down."
     "Lay down and do what?"
     It's no use.

     Hmm… maybe I should take some vitamin C.

     You know, just in case.
     Cough!

   

 ************************

My wife got me a "Get Better Soon" card.

I'm not sick, she just thinks I can get better.

theduchenebrothers@gmail.com

@JimDuchene