It is my opinion that no daughter should have to become acquainted with her father’s “boys”. Unfortunately it appears we are going to become good friends.
I was on the telephone today telling an old friend about the other day when Lewy was attempting to go to the bathroom. I was standing in the hall watching him gripping the grab bar and the little screen wall at the commode, straining with his last bit of energy to find the seat and sit down. Something so simple has become so hard. Lewy thinks the toilet moves around the bathroom, so he doesn’t trust it to stay there when he sits down…I wonder if the outhouse seat broke under him as a small child…
Lewy was straining to sit but would not because of this strange fear. “Daddy, just sit down, it’s directly under you. Just sit down.” Lewy tried to sit but rather instead sort of squatted moving his butt more forward than back on the seat. Watching this happen from in the hall, I had a perfect profile view of the landing.
In Hollywood action movies they show the explosions and fights in slow motion for greater effect. That was exactly how Daddy was sitting down, in excruciatingly slow motion. With my excellent vantage point, I was telling Daddy to move more backwards….”Move back you’re about to sit on your balls.” I figured I needed to get his attention. Lewy didn’t grasp what I was telling him and continued this ever so slow decent. I could see his boys touch the seat, then as he came down they were becoming more and more compressed to where they looked like they were going to pop. (Yes, I’m in the hall, bent over completely, watching this).
My male friend on the phone was laughing and agreeing that it seemed like it would not be comfortable.
But that’s not what I wanted to tell you today.
In laughing with my friend about this episode with Lewy, it reminded me of one of the now infamous family summer vacation horror stories (for my mother) from childhood. It was 1966. My parents had decided it would be a great vacation to borrow my Crazy Aunt Tom’s pull behind, pop up camper and drive to California.
To understand this story properly, you should know that my Dad’s mother was the trashiest “potty mouth” I have ever known in my life. She could teach seasoned sailors words and phrases….So of course Daddy knew all those words and would occasionally let one or two fly. I loved my Granny….On the other hand, my mother was raised – literally- if you said “by George” you got the strap. Needless to say my mother never said anything close to vulgar and her “relaxed” rules for my brother and me was we could go as far as “darn” and not get the Wrath of Mom. She thought she was very liberal with us;…and told us so. Many times.
We would drive for 6-8 hours everyday, no interstate highways, Route 66. Then we would camp in public campgrounds for the evenings. We would do this for a few days, and then spend one night at a motel to get good baths and have a decent bed to sleep on. At the time I did not see the necessity for this, but my vote didn’t count.
We got a room at some Mom and Pop motel and proceeded to settle into the room for the night. Daddy went to the bathroom to unload. When he sat down on the toilet, his “boys” splashed into the bowl water. Apparently it was pretty cold.
He jumped up cussing a blue streak. Momma was covering her ears and shushing him…”the children!!!” But that made Daddy get louder. He went over to the phone and called the front desk. Who knows who answered the phone…but who ever it was got an ear full of some of the most cleverly strung together vulgarisms you could possibly imagine. Granny would have been proud. Momma was pleading with him pulling on the phone trying to wrestle it from him…”No! No! Oh please stop.” Daddy slammed down the phone. My mother was holding her heart…she was having “the big one”. My brother and I were ROTFLOAO.
There was a banging at the door. Momma squealed “Oh No!” Daddy jumped up and flung the door open. The longest loudest series of expletives that were not deleted….The manager was trying to get a word in edgewise, but by now Daddy was on a roll. Momma was hiding in the corner of the room where this poor tiny little man at the door could not see her. She had her hands over her ears and was whimpering something to Jesus to please save her from this. My brother and I were still ROTFLOAO. This was the funniest thing we had ever seen in our lives.
Daddy slammed the door in the little man’s face. “Come on get the bags!” Momma let out a loud moan in the corner. “Where are we going to get another place to stay?” She asked. “There’s nothing else around here!”
Just then there was another knock on the door. The manager was there with a key to another room. He was moving us. Momma was apologizing to him as best she could muster, but nothing she could have said would erase all the filth that had spewed forth from Daddy’s lips. At least, I know that’s what she thought at the time.
The manager opened up the next room down and we went in. I figured the fun was over, but no, Daddy had one more way to totally embarrass Momma coming.
Momma was busy thanking and apologizing as the manager was on his way out the door.
Daddy in a loud voice said, “You ain’t leaving yet”. The man looked puzzled. Momma was mortified. Daddy had the man stand there and watch from the entry way while he pulled his pants down and sat on the toilet.
The boys weren’t swimming. “OK this is alright.”
So there sat Daddy, on the crapper with this man in the room and Momma turning every color of red in existence….The manager said that if everything was alright then he would excuse himself.
Momma rushed to the door to properly apologize and thank again. As she was opening the door, Daddy let loose a very loud rumbling fart and said “Thank you” in a low guttural voice to make it sound like it came from his ass.
I was in tears. Momma practically pushed the manager out the door.
Then Daddy started laughing; laughing at Momma. Somewhere in all that he realized what fun it would be to embarrass her half to death, and just laid it on.
That was the day I found out my Dad was a joker. After so many years of marriage, he finally got Momma to loosen up. Before she passed away she had actually tasted a wine cooler, and said the word “damn.”
She always said he was a bad influence.
3 comments:
Denise said...
Oh my God this was just too funny, you ought to write a book; I'd like an autographed copy. I can somewhat relate to this as my husband, age 61, has DLB. There have been a few times when he's needed to go to the bathroom at the wee (no pun intended) hours of the morning. In his and my sleepy state, I've failed to properly sit him on the toilet. Then comes what sounds like a very high powered water pistol being shot at the bathroom door. Naturally there's no stopping the firing until the pistol has been fully unloaded. Life with your father, it appears, has never been dull.
oldfriend said...
She's right ya know, you do have a book in you. Maybe not the book you always thought you would write, but this is totally asskickin' stuff!
pearose said...
Make that three who think that you would be doing other caregivers a true service if you put these stories into a book form. It will help the relieve the stress of other caregivers by adding a funny perspective to a not so funny situation. They can relate....