My Dad

My Dad makes me laugh. A lot. He's a funny guy. Unintentionally. Actually, I suppose I should say my Mom makes me laugh, because she's the one that tells me the things he does! Like the day he went for a walk to the mall not realizing he had a Q-tip sticking out of one ear. This was funny enough, but then she told me that he'd stopped to talk to people, including a lady who's dog was wearing sunglasses because it had just had cataract surgery. He actually told her that her four legged friend looked silly wearing them. Kudos to this lady for being able to keep a straight face.

Then there was the time my Dad sliced all his fingertips off using a mandolin slicer while prepping carrots for dinner. He called my Mom at work and told her that he cut himself with a grater. Seeing that I work three minutes from their house, and she works out of town, she called and asked my to pop over and check on him. So I went over with some gauze, band aids, antibacterial ointment and some finger cots. I got there, and found out that he cut all his fingertips off with a mandolin slicer. I cleaned the wounds, applied the ointment, gauzed them up and handed him the finger cots. He told me they looked like french ticklers. Then I had to show him how to put one on. Very funny... but not as funny as the message I got at work later that afternoon.

I nearly peed my pants when I heard this! Thank God I retrieved the message and not my boss. That would have been an interesting conversation!

Another time, my Dad called my Mom at work to say he had to buy new boots because his feet grew. Said he had a Hell of a time shovelling the driveway because his feet were so sore. When she got home from work, he told her again - he couldn't understand how, at his age, he was still growing. He put the boots on to show her. He crammed his aching feet back into them and hobbled into the kitchen to prove to her that he hadn't lost his mind. That's when he got an ear full for wearing my Mom's new boots.

My Dad has been very sick. At this point in time, there's still not a positive diagnosis. The doctors are leaning towards something called temporal arteritis. Anyway, it got so bad that my Mom took him to the hospital, where he was kept for a few days so they could do some testing. He was also given morphine and sleeping pills. At some ungodly hour on a Monday morning, my Mom got a call from the police saying they picked up my Dad near Kerr St. (a long walk from the hospital for an old man). She had to drive out to Oakville to pick him up and bring him back to the hospital. He explained that his buddy, Brian Franks, had died and that my Dad snuck out of the hospital to attend his memorial. He described the people that were there, and also stated that a hot dog stand was named in his honour. (Brian Franks is alive and well - all the people that were at the memorial were doctors and nurses that had been tending to him over the past two days). He was wearing his street clothes over his hospital gown. The fine nurses at OTMH didn't notice him slip out.

So now he's back at home. My Mom woke up in the middle of the night to my Dad fumbling around in the dark. When she asked what he was doing, he said "I think I'm stuck in a corner." She turned the light on and there he was, standing in the corner of the room - unsure of what he had to do to get to the door (that was RIGHT beside him).

And there you have it. Just a little glimpse into the inner workings of my Dad's mind. Quite funny, until I realize that I'm not that far from doing the same things. I drew some more bad pictures. Figure if I keep doing them, I am bound to get better at it. Besides, I like the pictures. They make this horrid blog a little more interesting. Still grammatically incorrect, but more entertaining (I think). Enough for now. 1½ hours until Hells Kitchen, 2½ hours until the 2½ men premier with Ashton Kutcher. Do you think it's pathetic that these shows will be the highlight of my day? I do. Later gator.