March 23, 2010
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Sunday dinners
Sundays have become a sacred ritual for me. It’s my weekly dinner with dad. A lot of times he’ll be sitting by the living room window waiting for me. As he gets ready to leave, I make sure he takes his cane along. He hates the cane. But some days he’ll just slip out the door and “forgot” about it. Of course I’ll bring it along and he’ll grumble a bit. I always walk beside him now. He knows our roles have reversed. He’s already told me he doesn’t want to be a burden. But I just go “Oh dad… don’t be silly.” As he gets into my car, I always put my hand over his head so he doesn’t hit the roof of the car when he gets in.
He kills me sometimes when he times how long it takes to get to the restaurant and back. Out of the corner of my eye, I’ll notice him just moving his sleeve to check his watch.
”That was at least a minute faster than before.”
“Well uhm, there wasn’t a lot of traffic.”
