This old man
A week going by without any word on his situation is a long time. It’s been almost two weeks now, and it seems like an eternity. At his age, anything could be the reason for no communications between us. With his active lifestyle and being outside all the time, if not careful, he’s just one slip and fall away from a broken hip. Unfortunately, I know firsthand how that will change his life.
I keep reminding him, he isn’t as young as he used to. Like it or not, there are simple things he can’t do anymore. He’s stubborn and doesn’t like hearing my warning. Or maybe he just doesn’t hear it at all. Lately, I’ve noticed that if I don’t make eye contact, it’s as if he’s ignoring me.
During our last conversation, he seemed to need my advice as much as I needed his. How we’ve reached this point in our relationship I haven’t a clue — him actually asking me for advice. But I’m glad we’re here. It’s amazing, at his age, how much he’s got going on.
To say I’m a bit apprehensive about not hearing from him for so long would be an understatement. After all, despite the trouble children get into, somehow he still loves me, although he rarely states it. Guess his generation isn’t much for sharing feelings, or maybe it’s just his way.
Arguments now are fewer and farther between. In that aspect, I guess I’ve really grown up, though it’s taken a lifetime to overcome the differences between a son and father.
The Wife walked in the bedroom just as I hung up the phone. She asked if I had finally gotten in touch with him. I replied, “No, but I left another voice message. I’m really starting to worry.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, “He’s been taking care of himself for a very long time. Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Why not?”
“Did you fight the last time?”
I went to the kitchen and stuck my head in the freezer looking for my after dinner snack. It seems someone in this house has hidden it from me once again. “Where’s the ice cream?”
“Look under the bag of chicken nuggets. And you didn’t answer the question.”
With my caloric-packed prize in hand, I closed the freezer door. “No, we didn’t have a fight.”
My response garnered a frown from The Wife. After scooping the ice cream into a large bowl, adding whipped cream, miniature vanilla wafers, chocolate sauce, and two cherries, I replied, “We had a lively discussion. Just sounded like a fight. At his age, he thinks he knows everything.”
“Maybe he does.” She pointed towards my bowl, “Eat all that, you’ll have nightmares again. Remember you’re lactose intolerant.”
I stuffed a way-too-big scoop into my mouth mumbling, “Not eating lactose – eating ice cream. Besides, if I’m up late, I’ll just call him.”
The Wife came over and took my bowl of ice cream away, “You’re not calling your son in the middle of the night. You’ll wake up our grandkids.”
With my promise not to call him, The Wife returned my dessert. I scooped another spoonful and said, “Okay, I’ll just call Dad. Sure he’ll be up. He has a nightly bowl of ice cream, too.”
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is [email protected]. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
