Tag Archives: dad

Dad, Stop Pushing The Button!

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The other night I was trying to watch “Prodigal Son” and because Dad constantly yawns loudly, coughs, gets the sneezies, or just talks through anything I want to watch, I turned on the soundbar so I could actually hear my show. He hates the soundbar because he says the sounds are all around and it’s weird. I told him that’s what ‘surround sound’ is and that’s what a soundbar does. It gives us the ‘theater’ experience. He scoffs at that, of course.

During one of the commercial breaks, I wanted Dad to hear some audio on my phone. He couldn’t hear it even though it was turned up. He grabbed the remote to mute the sound on the tv. I realized what he had done and why, so I grabbed the remote for the soundbar to mute that as well. As soon as I muted the sound bar, Dad pushed the button on his remote. The tv sound was back on. This went on, back and forth several times before I said, “Dad! Stop pushing the button!” He says, “I’m trying to mute the sound.” “I know. Mute it and then stop pushing the button. I’ll mute the soundbar.”

He keeps pushing the damn button on the remote. “Dad! Stop pushing the button!” He’s not understanding. He says, “I’m pushing the mute button but I can still hear it.” I say, “That’s because the soundbar is on!”

He’s still pushing the damn remote button. My show comes back on and I’ve given up on the audio I wanted him to hear.

“Turn the sound back on, Dad. My show is back on.” He looks at me with an extremely confused look on his face. The soundbar is on but the tv sound is still muted. I said, “Dad, unmute the sound on the tv. The soundbar is on but not the tv.” He just looks at the tv and the remote in his hand like he’s never seen it before. I get it. He’s 83 years old but it’s getting worse and worse by the day. I picked up my tv remote (we both have one) and I unmuted the tv.

Why didn’t I just use my tv remote instead of telling him to stop pushing the buttons? Because he would have still been pushing the buttons!

After my show was over, I turned off the soundbar. He asked, “Why did you turn the sound down?” I replied, “I didn’t, Dad. I turned off the soundbar.”

It’s no wonder I’m getting so many grays! It’s no wonder I haven’t pulled it all out! Gotta love him!

Crossed Wires

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The other night, Dad and I were outside walking towards the house. I heard him say something and turned to ask him what he said. He repeated it.

“Do you want me to scrape the house for the pancakes?” He asked.

“What?” I replied because I didn’t understand what he just said.

He repeated himself with more emphasis. “Do you want me to scrape the house for the pancakes?”

Again, I replied but with a little unbelief in my voice, “WHAT? Dad that doesn’t make any sense.”

He was getting angry now. “Oh, Goddammit,” he said with a raised voice.

“Sorry, Dad. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” I replied. I was thinking our wires must be crossed, as they say.

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He repeated the same thing again, except this time he used hand motions to convey his message. “Do you want me to scrape (hands motioning like a window cleaner cleaning a window with a squeegee) the house for the pancakes (motioning his hands as if he was bouncing a ball)?

Now I was thinking does he have full-blown Alzheimer’s or is it me? Do I have dementia? Good grief!

About that time I woke up and thought to myself, thank the heavens it was just a dream!

The Silkworms

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Many, many years ago I was a little girl in Kindergarten. I loved my teacher. She was young and pretty and her name was Mrs. Libby. I loved school. Mrs. Libby made it fun and exciting to learn and it was fun playing with the other kids.

One of our lessons was about silkworms. I don’t recall how we got so many silkworms for our classroom, but some of the kids in the class were given a little cup with 4 or 5 silkworms in it, but only if we wanted to do it. Of course, I did. We had been learning about silkworms all week so I knew how to care for them once I got them home. We had a huge mulberry tree in our backyard and that’s exactly what the little silkworms ate!

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I was so happy and excited to take these tiny silkworms home to watch them eat, grow and morph into beautiful silk moths. My mother let the wind out of my sails as quickly as I got into the car when she arrived to pick me up from school. She flew into a rage and I thought she was going to throw those poor little moths out in the parking lot! Her complaint was that I hadn’t asked for permission to bring them home, nor did my beloved teacher. I was just 5 years old and I was devastated that she was so angry about the little silkworms! I was allowed to keep them, but I don’t recall much about how that came about except that it was my responsibility to feed them and keep them from getting loose in the house.

It was exciting to me still, even after my mother’s temper tantrum, but I kept it to myself. I kept the little silkworms in a shoebox in my bedroom and never spoke of them, except of course to my Dad. He helped me reach the leaves in the mulberry tree that were too high for me since I was so small. Honestly, I thought my mother had hoped I couldn’t get any leaves at all so the little silkworms would die!

One day, the little silkworms spun their little cocoons and I was amazed and curious about what they were doing inside that I couldn’t see! I checked on my little silkworms day and night. I sat by my bed just staring, looking, hoping that the little moths would come out while I watched.

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I don’t recall when they actually emerged from their cocoons, but I was thrilled to see them but yet sad to let them go! I knew I had to get them outside before my mother found out. I didn’t want to risk another one of her fits of rage for no good reason. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t able to put my 5-year-old feelings into words as I just did, but I’m positive the feelings were still there.

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I waited for my Dad to come home so he could see the little moths, and he helped me let them go outside. It was so sad for my 5-year-old self to have to say goodbye. They fluttered and flew, right to the mulberry tree and at that moment I knew they were happy.

 

Throwback Thursday

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I haven’t done this in awhile…. Throwback from waaay back! This is my Dad on the left, his brother (my uncle) on the right. Dad was born in 1937. His brother was a little older, but I don’t recall the year he was born. Dad is 81 years old this year. Sadly, my uncle passed away about 2 years ago.

I cherish every day Dad is with me. He’s my comic relief! I think I would go mad if it weren’t for him. I love him to pieces, forever and always. Ok, now I’m getting sentimental and teary-eyed. I’ll just leave this right here…..

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Father’s Day Is Every Day

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My father has been my friend for almost as long as he has been my Dad. Does that sound silly?

When I was a little girl, I looked up to my Dad, as most all little girls do. But as I was growing up, my mother had me to believe that my dad was just awful. (She shouldn’t have ever talked bad about my Dad in front of me or my sisters.) She was very vocal. She had to let me know that my dad was a “know-it-all-son-of-a-bitch” and there were so many times she would tell me something secret or private and would instruct me NOT to tell Dad. (Like when she spent the $800 for rent on a new VCR.) When I first started shaving my legs, at around age 11, she told me NOT to tell Dad because he would get mad. There were many things like that, which were part of a young girl growing up that I was instructed NOT to tell Dad because he would get mad. 

When I hit high school and started thinking for myself, I realized that my Dad was a good guy. He wasn’t the asshole my mother made him out to be. He was kind and he had feelings. The first time I ever saw my Dad cry was at his baby sister’s funeral. It broke my heart. Dad was always good to us girls, and to my mother as well. There were times, he told me when I was grown, that he wanted to smack my mother upside the head, but he never did it. Why? Because he’s a genuinely good man. He would never hit a woman.

Dad made us laugh all the time. I remember when my sisters were little Dad would go outside and ride their tricycles. It was so funny to watch because he had such long legs and it had to have been difficult to ride a tricycle like that!

Dad helped us with our homework, because mom didn’t have more than an 8th grade education and if she tried to help us, she would just get mad at US because we knew “that’s not how you do it.” Anyway, Dad helped me…or rather DID my high school government paper I had to write on the Nuclear Arms Race. I was given a B on that paper and I remember being angry because Dad should have got an A on it!

Fast forward to my own kids being little and my Dad being a better Dad to them than their own father was. When it came time for me to leave, Dad helped me get my kids away from their father to start over. Dad continued to help, by being the best father figure to my kids as he could possibly be. My kids are grown and have lives of their own, away from us but my Dad continues to be here for them and for me. He is now 80 years old and has been my best friend for the past 30+ years!

So, as far as I’m concerned, EVERY STINKIN’ DAY is Father’s Day!