Happy 95th, Geezer

My father turned 95 on October 11th. We had a small family gathering, I made his favorite Lebanese food with my new daughter-in-law, who’s learning it all to help continue the tradition, and we carried the spoils to his retirement home and took over the private conference room for the party. I also bought 150 tiny cupcakes to hand out to the staff and residents of the place so everyone could share in the sugar high. The joint was jumping.

Yes, those are caution tape suspenders.

He’s still chugging along, but he’s having a lot of trouble hearing now, and that means that the endless, inane phone calls we used to have are less possible. Our inane conversations must now happen in person instead.

To celebrate his 95th, I thought I’d dig up a few of the old missives I used to transcribe, shaking my head, when I figured typing was a better used of my hands than choking him.

---

~ Me: Hello dad. Happy Father’s Day.

~ Dad: Guess what I did.

~ Me: What did you do?

~ Dad: Well, I didn’t get my new car yet.

~ Me: That’s what you did? You didn’t get your car?

~ Dad: No, not yet.

~ Me: You didn’t get a car not yet?

~ Dad: Guess what I did?

~ Me: You... didn’t get a car?

~ Dad: That’s not doing something.

~ Me: Right. Dad, what did you do?

~ Dad: Today? Not too much.

~ Me: OK. Well, I just called to say Happy Father’s Day.

~ Dad: Why thank you!

---

This was a text sent from his vacation in Barbados in 2018.

---

This was an email he sent me, apropos of nothing, per usual:

While walking down the street a Senator was tragically hit by a car and died. His soul arrives in Heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

“Welcome to Heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts you see, so we’re not sure what to do with you.”

“No problem just let me in,” says the Senator.

“Well, I’d like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity.”

“Really?, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven,” says the Senator.

“I’m sorry, but we have our rules.”

And with that St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell.

The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him. Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.

They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.

Also present is the devil who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes.

They are all having such a good time that before the Senator realizes it, it is time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, “Now it’s time to visit Heaven.”

So, 24 hours passed with the Senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing.

They have a good time and before he realizes it the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

“Well then you’ve spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity.”

The Senator reflects for a minute before he answers: “Well, I would never have said it before, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell.”

So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell.

Now the doors of the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above.

The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t understand,” stammers the Senator. “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable.

What happened?”

The devil smiles at him and says, “Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted.”

Vote wisely.

---

And some random phone calls:

~Dad: Marjie, what’s my password?

~Me: Hello, Dad. You forgot to say hello again. For what?

~Dad: For the thing. The heat thing.

~ Me: Where are you?

~ Dad: On the Cape. I used to be able to do the heat thing from my phone or my iPad, but now it’s gone. This new phone took it away.

~Me: OK, You’re talking about the thermostat app, yes?

~Dad: Yes. Obviously. But it’s gone.

~Me: OK, I just found it on my phone. They changed the way it looks. Also, did you turn off all the systems?

~Dad: I don’t know. Possibly. Yes, I think so. Well, no. I don’t think so.

~Me: Thanks for clearing that up. I’ve just turned on the systems and set you to heat.

~Dad: But I don’t want the heat. I want to be able to turn it on with my phone. What’s the password?

~ I just texted them to you. Do you want me to turn off the heat?

~Dad: No! It’s cold here. Why do you think I wanted the heat thing? I can’t find the app.

~Me: They changed it. It’s red, and it says, “TCC” instead of Honeywell.

~Dad: CVV?

~Me: No, TCC

~Dad: VTT?

~Me: No, T as in Thomas, CC as in Cat Cat.

~Dad: CatTC?

~Me: What?

~Dad: Thomas Cat Cat?

~Me: Yes, but just the first letters. TCC

~Dad: Found it! It’s TCC! What’s the password and user name thing?

~Me: It’s what you originally set up: Your email is the user name, and the password is BatRCold4. Capital B, lower case at, Capital R Capital C, lowercase old, number 4.

~Dad: Capital four

~Me: Stop. Capital B... Dad, I texted it to you. You can just copy it and paste it in. Hello?

~ Dad: Loud noise, dropped phone, picked up phone -

OK, Marj? Can you hear me? Hello?

~Me: Dad, you can do it when you’re off the phone.

~Dad: OK, now, what was the password?

---

~Dad: (Headed out to a dinner meeting) This will be the second drink I’ve had in 40 days.

~Me: You’re kidding. Why’s that?

~Dad: Turns out that apnea is affected by weight, and booze socks on weight.

~Me: This is true. How’s it going?

~Dad: It’s been over a month, and I’ve lost about 3 pounds.

~Me: ...

~Dad: Yeah, fuck it.

~Dad: So it turns out the other thing that affects weight is not sleeping.

~Me: Booze helps you sleep.

~Dad: I always said you should have been a doctor.

---

~Dad: Marjie, you’ll be proud of me. I haven’t bought another car yet and it’s been months.

~Me: Don’t be too proud - it’s still your fifth car in five years, and your rate of purchase has accelerated to one about every eight months.

~Dad: Well they’re too fucking loud.

~Me: It’s just not acceptable to trade in a car because it’s too loud when you won’t wear your hearing aids.

~Dad: They’re still too loud. Anyway, the Honda is at the sound place getting insulated, so I took an Uber here. (Conversation takes place detailing the process by which a perfectly good, brand new car is torn apart so that some sort of composite batting can be stuffed into all spaces.)

~Me: You know, dad, this hobby of yours is adding up.

~Dad: Well, it’s cheaper than a mistress.

~Me: I was unaware that those were your only two options.

~Dad: You know what I say about that?

~Me: No, what?

~Dad: If it flies, flirts or floats, it’s better to rent.

~Me: ...

~Me: So what you’re saying is that serial buying of cars is cheaper than buying planes, boats and hookers. You’re being *thrifty.*

~Dad: Exactly!

---

~Me: Happy Father’s day, dad!

~Dad: Thank you - how are the boys?

~Me: They’re fine, why?

~Dad: Well, you know. By the way, we’re coming back to Boston on Monday afternoon, ‘cause we’ll have no electricity at our place on Monday.

~Me: Yes, so you’ve said quite a few times. Wouldn’t it make more sense to come back Tuesday?

~Dad: Oh I can’t do that. I have a urologist appointment on Tuesday.

~Me: Would it kill you just to say, “appointment” and spare me the details?

~Dad: They’re good for you. So we’re set for dinner Tuesday?

~Me: Dinner Tuesday? I know nothing about this.

~Dad: Oh - I thought you were there. Thing 1 is going on a trip, Thing 2 is working, so this is a good time to see them.

~Me: Thing 1 is gone for two days... OK, I guess we’ll have dinner Tuesday! What time?

~Dad: Oh, the usual place.

~Me: OK. What time?

~Dad: Also, I’m going to clean out my squash locker and give stuff to the Things
.
~Me: OK. WHAT TIME?

~Dad: What time should we say?

~Me: You tell me. It’s not like I knew about this in the first place, so I’m going to clear the calendar regardless.

~Dad: OK, better say 6:30. Maybe your haircut will have grown out by then.

~Me: …

~Me: OK, well, have a nice weekend then. I’ll see you Tuesday.

~Dad: For dinner?

---

~Me: Hi Dad

~Dad: Hi Marj. Are you back?

~Me: Yes. I’m pretty tired.

~Dad: Want to go out to dinner?

~Me: No thanks, Dad. I’m pretty tired.

~Dad: Are you tired?

~Me: Why would you say that?

~Dad: Anyway, I thought I’d fill you in.

~Me: On what?

~Dad: Oh you know, all the things.

~Me: I see. Are all the things OK?

~Dad: I had a good weekend on the Cape. Also, I’m going to get another sleep test, because I refused to use that C-pap thing, but it turns out you breathe better if you do.

~Me: Yes, I’ve heard that. So dad, you OK? Can we talk tomorrow?

~Dad: You sound tired. Where were you again?

~Me: My conference, dad. I put on a conference. The one where you texted me urgently to tell me something was wrong with the car, but that it was now OK.

~Dad: Why would you do that in California?

~Me: It’s a conference, dad. We move around.

~Dad: But doesn’t working in California make you tired?

~Me: You’re a fucking rocket scientist. I’m going to let you ponder that one.

~Dad: Did I tell you about my toenails?

~Me: If I say yes, will you not tell me now?

~Dad: But I was going to tell you about three things! One was

the Cape, let’s see.... one was the Cape, OH YES! My hip. I don’t think I’m going to get my hip replaced. Also the sleep study.

~Me: Well that’s good, then. I’m glad you’re not getting your hip replaced. Could we talk about it more tomorrow?

~Dad: But what was the third thing?

~Me: That is three things. I want to hang up now.

~Dad: My toenails! That was the other thing!

~Me: You know, other people’s fathers don’t call them to tell them about their toenails.

~Dad: You sound tired. You should get some rest.