[Critique Group 1] submission for May 7 critique 1276 words A Day with Dad

Wed May 3 11:00:56 EDT 2017

This piece is kind of long due to dialogue.read part or all of it to get a
feel and offer any suggestions

Thanks, Marcia Wick

  A Day with Dad

Marcia J. Wick, The Write Sisters

Copyright March 2017

Word Count:  1276

Poised at the opposite end of the breakfast table, my 92-year-old dad
nibbles toast and sips his morning tea  while I settle my guide dog and set
up my laptop. It is "my day" to hang out with dad until his midday caregiver
arrives. My family pieces together the hourly puzzle each week to help our
parents age in place. 

Although we are six, the rotation stretches and stresses us all. Our
youngest sister, the live-in caregiver, accompanies our 90-year-old mom to a
doctor's appointment this morning, leaving me to enjoy companionship with
Dad. Our dad drove and skied until age 90, but dementia is now taking its
toll.  With advancing Alzheimer's, he can no longer be left home alone.

Prepared for the worst, we celebrate that, at least for now, Dad with
Alzheimer's is amiable. In between the memory gaps, we still glimpse the
core values of the man.

"Have you seen this?" my father asks, waving the newspaper at me.

"What's it say about the weather?" I ask, mindful that Dad is innocently
unaware that it's been decades since I could see well enough to read
newsprint. 

"The weather! Where do they hide the weather? Where do they hide the
weather," he chatters. "Here's the weather. Afternoon showers, snow likely
tomorrow, snow likely tomorrow."

"Springtime in the Rockies," I reply.

"Yeah, snow likely tomorrow," he says. Waving the paper at me again, he
asks, "Have you seen this?" 

"Why yes, I have."

Dad slaps the paper onto the table with a grunt and grasps the remote. I
blink at the intrusion of the television at full volume. "It's 'The
Doctors'," he says. "Oh, that girl has a problem. Look, look  at her face."

I turn in the direction of the television, taking heart my sweet Daddy still
believes I can see. "Let's watch something else," I suggest.

He stabs the remote in the direction of the TV and we land on a First Alert
commercial. He flicks to another channel and another ad. "Hmmmm, hmmmm,
hmmm," he says seeming simply to enjoy the sound of his voice. Pressing the
button again, we catch a recruiter commercial. "Come on," he tells the TV.

"Nothing but commercials?" 

"Geez," he flips to yet another commercial, then finally he lands on the
news. "There's Donald," Dad says, catching a glimpse of Mr. Trump on the
screen. "True or false, Trump is our president," my father, the consummate
teacher quizzes me. 

"True, sad but true," I say.

"I don't remember voting for Trump."

You did not vote for Trump. You voted for Hillary Clinton."

"Oh, Oh, that's right," he recalls, suddenly lucid, reminding me he served
as a Clinton delegate in 2008. This once-in-a-lifetime experience lingers in
his memory banks along with a mix of other important accomplishments
including service as a navigator during WWII, the joy of teaching chemistry,
and the view from atop the dozens of mountains he has summited.

Bored with the news, Dad pushes his walker to peer out the window and read
the outdoor thermometer. "Ooh, ooh, 32, that's cold, that's cold," I hear a
child-like voice say.

"You want to get some of that fruit drink while you're up?" I ask, taking
advantage of his being on his feet.

"Let me look," he shuffles behind his walker into the adjoining kitchen and
pokes his head into the fridge. I hear fumbling and tea warming in the
microwave before he hums his way back to the breakfast nook.

Not sure if he retrieved an Ensure for the morning, I inquire again. "Did
you find one of those fruit drinks?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you look in the fridge for a fruit drink?"

"I don't know.Oh, now I know what you are talking about."

"Are you drinking one," I prompt a third time.

"No, I am drinking my tea," he bangs his mug onto the table.

I try again. "Rebecca will be proud of you if you finish one fruit drink
before she gets here."

He shoves his tea mug toward me and asks, "What does this say?" 

Knowing well the motto on his favorite mug, I humor him, "What does it say?"

"Keep calm and drink tea." The mug hits the table as Dad grabs the paper
asking, "Have you seen this?"

"What are the headlines?" I encourage him.

He reads, "North Carolina Repeals Bathroom Law."

"What do you think of that?" 

"I think anybody ought to be able to go anywhere," he says. "If you gotta
go, you gotta go."

"That's progressive, Dad. If only other people were as open minded as you."

"Yeah, if you gotta go, you gotta go," he says, snapping the paper to
another page. "This headline says 'Keep Calm and Drink Tea'."

"It does?"

"Hee hee. No, I made it up. Ha, it says that on my cup. Keep calm and drink
tea, keep calm and drink tea."

"It's a good thing you like tea," I say.

"I learned to drink tea in England."

"Really, the first time you had tea was in England? You were in your 30s by
then," I observe.

"The first time I had regular tea."

"Regular?"

"I mean regular, like all the time." Dad's two-decade career with the Air
Force included an overseas assignment in England where the third child in
our family was born. I am child number four, born in Michigan where Dad
completed his Master's Degree in chemical engineering. The fifth and sixth
siblings arrived during tours of duty in New Mexico followed by Colorado
where we still reside. 

This year, our parents celebrated 68 years of marriage.  Whether symptomatic
of the Alzheimer's or a reflection of earlier courting days, Dad lately
becomes anxious when his bride is not around. He abruptly asks, "Where did
your mother go?" 

"She had a doctor's appointment, just routine," I assure him. 

"Routine, OK," he says, gazing out the window at the snowy mountain scene.
"Will she be home soon?"

"Yes, soon. And Rebecca will be here at 11," I remind him.

"Is that right? I better get shaved and dressed," Dad reverses direction and
starts singing an old marching song, "I don't know where we're going but
we're going! I don't know where we're going but we're going!"

"Why don't you wait for Rebecca since she'll help you shower today," I reach
an arm to intercept him.

"Is that right? Are you sure she's coming today? When she gets here, I'll
let her in," he says, jiggling his walker. "I've got my car right here."

"You got a license for that thing," I quip, relieved that he has forgotten
once saying "life won't be worth living if I cannot drive."

"If you drink a fruit drink before Rebecca gets here, you'll win points with
her," I tease.

"OK, OK," he giggles and stomps to the kitchen abandoning his walker. I hear
the "Keep Calm" mug clang onto the microwave platter as buttons beep. 

"Are you getting a fruit drink?" I ask, dizzy with deja vu.

Pushing the start button, he says, "I still have my tea." Chuckling, he
adds, "Just kidding! I've got it right here if I can figure out how to open
it." 

"What flavor did you get?" I inquire as he returns to the table.

"I think it's red, yeah, red. Do you want some?" he offers to share.

"No thanks, Dad, Rebecca will be happy. There's the bell."

He pops up and drives his walker noisily to the front door, anxious to make
a good impression for the caregiver. As if for the first time, Dad
introduces me to Rebecca, and we play along.

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