I rang my dad last week. Oh? You may wonder where this is going. It’s not going anywhere you imagine. Just trust me.
I rang him, he never rings me. He is my Italian parent, if you recall and it is fifty minutes of my life I’ll never get back.
The first five minutes he starts with ‘oh, I don’t know if you know/I don’t know if I told you?’ and I have to be rude and interrupt him to remind him, I saw him at Christmas and he has Sciatica and his left leg hurts.
Yes. Then he’s confused and surprised I am aware. A bit of extra information re my Pa, is that he was a builder all his life, he retired a little early, due to having bowel cancer. Don’t stress, he had chemo and radiation, he beat it.
Then he got/had bladder cancer. (at least he is consistent, same are of the body) and he’s beaten that (again not complaining).
While he hasn’t got dementia, he is seventy-years old, I think undiagnosed, he may have had a series of heart attacks and strokes or just a bit of ‘brain-faze’ from all his treatments. Relax, he’s cancer free.
In reality, with his very serious dedication to smoking, cancer may eventually be his downfall, but he will not go down without a fight. But right now, he’s doing everything he can to complain about everything and not listen to anything I have to say to help.
Anyway, I digress, he then went into a rant about he would do anything to not have to use a walking stick to get around and how hard it is when half your body doesn’t work.
Oh my God, when he uttered those words and he could not be interrupted because he was not done. So, if you can’t feel my eyeroll and if I’d been there, he would have received a sever bitch slap (or a back hander).
He was so severely oblivious to who had had just made that comment to, I decided to give him one of my classic Helen lines.
“Shut the fuck up”
He actually stopped talking (I was impressed). Now, you may think that is the rudest thing and completely disrespectful to speak to one’s father that way. But, however, I will say that to my mother and she does. So, I should be able to say it to my father.
I love both my parents; I just love them differently and I deal with them both as sternly as they each need and can take.
Honestly, I am much tougher with my mum because if I don’t pull her into line no one will and on somethings she will never change, so I’ve learned to let it go. I guess I’ve learned to choose my battles there also.
Ah, the fifty minutes I said I’d never get back, yes! My father, at 70 decided to get a smart phone! His first smart phone and likely his first taste of the internet!
And I proceeded to help-desk him through how to use his search engine! “Dad, just put your finger in the white bar up the top!” And he grumbles the (and I stress) “typewriter” has gone away!” God help me! “Just tap in the white bar dad and the keyboard will appear!”
And fifty fucking minutes later! KMKMKMKM!!!!!!!(Kill Me!) That was the fifty fucking minutes of my life I will never get back! And I’m not even the Samsung daughter! I’m the Apple daughter!
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