Read Online Roll with the Punches by Amy Gettinger - Free Book Online
Authors: Amy Gettinger
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won't use a walker."
Not wanting to upset her before surgery, I thought fast. "He got lonely for home. And you."
She laughed, "That dickens. Well, in that case, don't let him stir the eggs with a plastic spoon, and don't let him have any bacon. He's already had some this week."
Too late. "The problem is, Mom, I called in sick today, but I really need to work tomorrow."
"Well, get a housekeeper—one that can cook low-fat and isn't too expensive and is honest and not too young. He's a bottom pincher."
Right. Super Martha, for five dollars an hour.
Music Man gathered up the plates, singing Bringing in the Sheaves in his wobbly baritone. At the sink, he changed to another hymn called On the Cross , with his own set of words:
" In the bar, in the bar, where I bought my first cigar, and the nickels and the dimes rolled away ." He caught my eye and I joined in, scraping a plate. " It was there by chance that I tore my Sunday pants. And now I have to wear them every day ." We were both grinning at the end.
Then he noticed that I was filling the large left-hand sink with soapy water.
"Rhonda. You can't do it that way. We always do it the other way. The soapy water goes over here." He shoved me aside and unplugged the big sink, and with a clatter, hurriedly shifted all the dishes into the tiny right-hand sink, built only for rinsing. Pans went crashing to the floor, making Bing scramble for cover.
I said, "We've never done it that way. The big pots and pans won't fit in there."
Doggedly, he kept going. A glass broke, but he continued to fill the little sink until it overflowed.
"Dad, let me get that broken glass out.”
He elbowed me away. "You're just like your mother, always wanting your own way, always wanting to change things. I always wash the dishes in the right-hand sink, and I'm not going to change now. Ethel knows how I do it. You just go outside. You just go to work." He hunched over the sink, his great bulk a fortress, protecting his odd behavior from view.
Standing back offended, I caught Bing cruising my jacket pockets for used Kleenex and candy.
"Stop that, you beast!" I swatted his nose and shooed him outside, then stomped down the hall to my room, fuming. How long had Dad been this way? Happy one minute, crabby the next, and about as logical as a fish? His temper hadn’t been this volatile since he'd retired from high school teaching a decade ago. The fewer teenagers there are in one's life, the better off one is, of course, so he'd perked right up at retirement.
I checked my email. Fifteen loan ads, twelve million-dollar spams from Africa, eight offers to lengthen my penis, three shoe sale coupons, and another of my interested agents, Mary Ellen Harrison, telling me never to darken her door again.
I considered calling my brothers, both dentists, about Dad. But it was Wednesday. They'd either be golfing or drawing up pre-nups for their second or third wives. Too cool for us, they'd both flown off at eighteen to the opposite coast, never to return. Occasionally they called on holidays. But that was it.
So I called Monica in Sydney. She'd know what to do. But I'd forgotten just how nasty an awakened Monica could be at 4:00 a.m. her time.
She said, "Come on, Rhonda. Get real. He's damn near eighty, and he's stressed out from Mom being in the hospital. It's not comfortable for old people to move. You should never have taken him to that Purina place."
"Ralston House. Look, it wasn't my idea. Mom told me to. And he's not old. Seventy-nine is not old. My father is not old .”
"Fine. Tell his surgeon that. Besides, you know they're inseparable. Haven't you noticed he won't go anywhere without her anymore?"
"I don't like the duh in your tone of voice," I said.
"Look, he's the captain, she's the navigator. He's just feeling lost at sea." She sighed. "I've finally landed a decent part-time job and the kids love their school. But if you really can't handle it, I guess I could come home.”
The last thing I
Not wanting to upset her before surgery, I thought fast. "He got lonely for home. And you."
She laughed, "That dickens. Well, in that case, don't let him stir the eggs with a plastic spoon, and don't let him have any bacon. He's already had some this week."
Too late. "The problem is, Mom, I called in sick today, but I really need to work tomorrow."
"Well, get a housekeeper—one that can cook low-fat and isn't too expensive and is honest and not too young. He's a bottom pincher."
Right. Super Martha, for five dollars an hour.
Music Man gathered up the plates, singing Bringing in the Sheaves in his wobbly baritone. At the sink, he changed to another hymn called On the Cross , with his own set of words:
" In the bar, in the bar, where I bought my first cigar, and the nickels and the dimes rolled away ." He caught my eye and I joined in, scraping a plate. " It was there by chance that I tore my Sunday pants. And now I have to wear them every day ." We were both grinning at the end.
Then he noticed that I was filling the large left-hand sink with soapy water.
"Rhonda. You can't do it that way. We always do it the other way. The soapy water goes over here." He shoved me aside and unplugged the big sink, and with a clatter, hurriedly shifted all the dishes into the tiny right-hand sink, built only for rinsing. Pans went crashing to the floor, making Bing scramble for cover.
I said, "We've never done it that way. The big pots and pans won't fit in there."
Doggedly, he kept going. A glass broke, but he continued to fill the little sink until it overflowed.
"Dad, let me get that broken glass out.”
He elbowed me away. "You're just like your mother, always wanting your own way, always wanting to change things. I always wash the dishes in the right-hand sink, and I'm not going to change now. Ethel knows how I do it. You just go outside. You just go to work." He hunched over the sink, his great bulk a fortress, protecting his odd behavior from view.
Standing back offended, I caught Bing cruising my jacket pockets for used Kleenex and candy.
"Stop that, you beast!" I swatted his nose and shooed him outside, then stomped down the hall to my room, fuming. How long had Dad been this way? Happy one minute, crabby the next, and about as logical as a fish? His temper hadn’t been this volatile since he'd retired from high school teaching a decade ago. The fewer teenagers there are in one's life, the better off one is, of course, so he'd perked right up at retirement.
I checked my email. Fifteen loan ads, twelve million-dollar spams from Africa, eight offers to lengthen my penis, three shoe sale coupons, and another of my interested agents, Mary Ellen Harrison, telling me never to darken her door again.
I considered calling my brothers, both dentists, about Dad. But it was Wednesday. They'd either be golfing or drawing up pre-nups for their second or third wives. Too cool for us, they'd both flown off at eighteen to the opposite coast, never to return. Occasionally they called on holidays. But that was it.
So I called Monica in Sydney. She'd know what to do. But I'd forgotten just how nasty an awakened Monica could be at 4:00 a.m. her time.
She said, "Come on, Rhonda. Get real. He's damn near eighty, and he's stressed out from Mom being in the hospital. It's not comfortable for old people to move. You should never have taken him to that Purina place."
"Ralston House. Look, it wasn't my idea. Mom told me to. And he's not old. Seventy-nine is not old. My father is not old .”
"Fine. Tell his surgeon that. Besides, you know they're inseparable. Haven't you noticed he won't go anywhere without her anymore?"
"I don't like the duh in your tone of voice," I said.
"Look, he's the captain, she's the navigator. He's just feeling lost at sea." She sighed. "I've finally landed a decent part-time job and the kids love their school. But if you really can't handle it, I guess I could come home.”
The last thing I
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