A Circle Completed

Day 13: Mad Dogs And Englishmen Go Out In The Noonday Sun.

A disclaimer for anyone who might read this. IT IS NOT DEPRESSING, I PROMISE. The way today's reflection starts out might lead one to believe that a tear-jerker approaches, but that's not the case.

Today I spent a great deal of time at my parents' house. Many of you know that my dad is in terrible health, and has been for some time. Well over a year ago, his doctor said he only had a couple of months left, so we have had him much longer than anticipated, which is truly a gift from God. At any rate, his condition is quite bad, and he's basically bedridden.

One of the challenges we face in dealing with dad is his unwillingness to eat. He seldom takes more than a bite or two of anything, and eating half a bowl of soup is cause for celebration. Today, out of nowhere, he said he thought he would eat some boiled shrimp. I beat a hasty path to The Fish Market, and said shrimp were procured. By the time I got back, he was a little groggy but still slightly hungry. To facilitate matters, I told him I would peel them and all he had to do was enjoy his lunch. Here's where the flashback begins...

When I was maybe 7 or 8, I remember dad coming home from work one day with a large plastic bag full of boiled shrimp he had bought at some sort of fund-raiser (Lion's Club, maybe?) and asking me if I would like to have some. At this point in my life I was a fan of fried shrimp, but boiled...not so sure. After a little coaxing, I agreed to try one, and was immediately a fan.

Never having been the most dextrous of kids, I soon found myself struggling with the peeeling process. Ever indulgent, dad got a little white bowl that I used to eat cereal from (wow, the things you remember) and peeled about a dozen, dropping the ready-to-eat bites into the bowl for me. I can't tell you a single thing we discussed, but I remember realizing(even at such a young age) that this was one of those really sweet and special moments in life. I can still see the crackers, tobasco, and cocktail sauce on the table, surrounded by newspaper and shrimp peelings, a large lemon slice dominating the center of the table. I can still smell the pungent scent of crab boil. I can still hear the wind blowing in the trees. (We had to eat on the patio, as my mother is violently "allergic" to the smell of anything that once swam. :-)

This little tableau dominated my thoughts as I made dad's meal easy to eat today. Now, if this was a tear-jerky "movie of the week" scenario, I would have left the room, leaned against the wall and cried piteously. However, the exact opposite took place. I felt happy.

Yes, believe it or not, I felt happy.

Those of us who are lucky enough to have long-lived parents will eventually face the role of caretaker to they who once took care. It's natural, appropriate, and the way of things. My parents have done a tremendous amount for my sister and me, and we're all too glad to give something back. Is it fun? No. Do I wish my dad could be the same funny, vibrant, happy, playful guy he was even 10 years ago? Absolutely.

Do I gladly and happily give back what little I can to a person who, patriarchy aside, was also one of my very best friends? Without a doubt.

Enough of that...I promised it wasn't sad, and I think that promise was accurate. If you found it sad, send in a refund request and you can have your money back. ;-)

In today's News From The Motherland...drunken teens run wild.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/education/8227443.stm

Cheers!
FLT3