Thinking About Dad
Wed., September 3, 04:27 PM
Dad’s been gone for twenty-five years; yet he’s still here reminding me of things he taught me. And once again, I’m remembering and understanding what I didn’t really comprehend the first time around.
I was in a store today where one of the experienced clerks was showing a neophyte how to make change. (They don’t have automatic change calculators at this store.) The youngster wasn’t a baby; she just had never been taught about counting backwards. “Fifteen fifty-two, plus three pennies makes fifty-five, and two dimes – put one of those back – makes seventy-five, and a quarter makes sixteen…” The kid got the four dollars right to complete change of a twenty. Dad taught me to do subtraction that way, adding to the bottom instead of borrowing at the top, even though it wasn’t being taught that way any more; the older clerk had learned to make change when she’d had a paper route as a kid. We still have to do it, because an automatic cash register doesn’t guarantee that the cashier can count it out. (Mr. Lazy Brain shows me a handful of change he just got and asks, is that right?)
But I had been remembering a time in my early teens when Dad was sick. He was working two jobs and had injured his arm; naturally, he just used the other arm, and soon both were really sore. Severe tendonitis was the diagnosis, I believe, and eventually – in order to force him to rest them – both arms were put into short casts. It was embarrassing to him, because he couldn’t do things for himself. He even had trouble bringing food to his mouth.
My mother noticed that he wasn’t sleeping well, but when she saw him getting up to read his insurance policies, she got scared and called the doctor. It was termed a “nervous breakdown.” There were no medications for it; he was referred to a “nerve specialist” and went through a couple of months of therapy. Mother later said it was a blessing in disguise, because when he got really sick with diabetes and a bad heart, he knew how to deal with it, having learned from his earlier experience.
Today was not a working day for me, and that was good because I didn’t want to do anything. This pain when I sit is some kind of degenerative bone condition, according to my doctor, and it isn’t going to go away. It seems like part of a conspiracy. I can learn to get my glasses when I want to read, and I can even learn to be patient until my eyes focus. But if I can’t sit, how do I curl up with a book? (My elbows are getting sore from leaning.) I can’t not read. Maybe I really am too old to do anything constructive.
I’m beginning to see my dad’s point of view, even though I don’t support anyone financially except myself. Here I am continuing to work in order to have enough money to retire on. If I didn’t live to retire, my savings could get everyone out of debt…
Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything stupid. But I do understand.
