Dad--Part II

OK, so I’ve gone through a number of the good things about Dad.  And I meant every one of them.  However, just like anyone’s parents, he’s got his quirks, some of which he’s passed on to me.  Those include:

1. A lack of patience.  I think I may be a little more patient than the big guy, but not much.  I think this is tied together with…


2. A desire to stick to a schedule.  Yes, I prefer to know where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing before doing it.  I’m not the most spontaneous guy on the planet.  Actually, I’m rarely spontaneous.  Mom learned a long time ago that if she wanted me to do something or go someplace, she had better give me a couple days notice so I can acclimate myself to the idea and deem it acceptable.  However, Dad’s taken this to a new level.  He needs more like a week, and that’s assuming he doesn’t have to leave town.  A change in geography requires more like 2 months.  Since he’s retired, he’s set up a cleaning schedule, and he sticks to that pretty religiously.  He hates to have that change.  If something comes up, his first concern is the impact on the cleaning schedule.  Well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s close.  This could be related to the fact that he is…


3. A little bit stubborn.  The first time Mom & Dad came down to visit me after moving to Charlotte, I was still living in an apartment.  The place did have an indoor basketball court, so I took them over, and brought a basketball with me.  We (that’s me & Dad) started shooting, though it wasn’t long before I noticed Dad wasn’t shooting with his right hand.  This wasn’t extremely unusual, as he is bit ambidextrous, and he can shoot left handed.  But he is naturally right handed, so after 4 or 5 shots, I asked him about why he wasn’t using his right.  Come to find out, it hurt to do that, so he didn’t.  Only after a fair amount of prodding (“Dad, you can’t go the next 30 years not being able to lift your right arm higher than your shoulder”), he finally had it checked out:  Partially torn rotator cuff.  Luckily, physical therapy was able to rehab it, but I still don’t think he would have even mentioned it had we (this would be Mom & me this time) not started pushing harder to have it checked.


4. A preference to stay home.  For me, this is primarily related to being a strong introvert.  Being around people, particularly people I don’t know, just sucks energy right out of me.  Don’t believe me?  I think it was during an open house for Chad’s high school graduation that I’d worn out on being around people, so I went upstairs in the bathroom, closed the doors, and laid down to take a nap.  It was the only place where people wouldn’t bother me, at least that seemed available at the time.

I can probably hold Dad responsible for my desire to play while injured.  There’s a certain amount of honor in that.  There’s two that really stick out in my mind.  First, I dislocated my right pinky while playing basketball in Winston-Salem (when I was still working for Aon).  I felt, and heard, it pop out.  We had just started the last game, and with no subs available, I needed to keep going.  So I asked, “Anyone know how to set a dislocated finger?”  Someone said, “Just pull it.”  Granted, I had no idea whether the person had any idea what he was talking about, but it sounded good, so as soon as I could get my hands dry enough to get a grip (it was summer, and I’d already been playing for 1-1/2 hours), that’s exactly what I did.  Lo and behold, it did pop back in.  It still hurt like hell, but I finished the game.  Much like Dad was doing, I just tried to do everything with my left, which is definitely not my strong hand.

The other was playing softball for TeamVest.  Several of you at TNG either remember the event, or at least saw me the following day.  While playing left-center, a ball was hit deep in my direction.  I started running back, watching the ball almost the whole way.  Finally, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to make the catch, so I turned to play the ball off the fence (one of the chain-link variety).  Problem was, when I did this, I was AT the fence, and basically ran into if face-first.  I kind of went down in a heap, probably out of shock as much as anything.  After a few minutes, I was up again, and despite spitting blood, finished the game.  I could swear most of the team asked me, “Are you sure you’re OK?”  Only after I got home did I realize why.  I had about 3 cuts on my face, not to mention a couple on the inside of my mouth (hence the blood).  I did look pretty bad.

That’s going to do it for now.  Enjoy the rest of your weekend.