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080 - Father's Day
Jun. 19th, 2016 10:24 amI can't remember a single thing I ever bought or did for my Dad on Father's Day, though I'm sure I did all the standard stuff - homemade cards, artwork, ties, cologne, novelty baseball caps with pithy sayings on them - but I really can't remember.
So what I'd rather do for him this Father's Day is to remember him in the way he REALLY would have appreciated being remembered... in a funny story :)
I was never certain if it was the booze or just the odd hours he sometimes had to work, but my Dad was a borderline narcoleptic. He would come home, take off his pants, make himself a sandwich and then fall asleep on the couch in mid bite, making Mom and I stay up late to make sure he didn't choke to death somewhere between the snoring and the chewing. It may take him up to three hours to sleep-eat that sandwich, but he WOULD FINISH IT and woe be unto anyone who might try to touch that sandwich before he was done eating it!
And I'm pretty sure he had some sleep apnea going on because it was one of those sleeps where he would SNORE and SNORE and then suddenly SNORESTOP... and Mom and I would look at each other and wait and dare each other to check for a pulse and/or clear the sandwich out of his mouth, but then he would start breathing again and we would both feel relieved.
ONE NIGHT, however, he was passed out there on the couch in his underwear, holding his bologna sandwich, when the snoring stopped long enough for Mom and I to finally go through with it - ONE of us had to go and check. I don't remember if it was me or her that ended up having to go do it, but whoever it was quickly found out that he was indeed still alive and just breathing quietly rather than snoring (*WHEW*). And then whoever it was, and again I don't remember if it was me or my Mom that did this, but whoever it was... DARED TO REMOVE THE SANDWICH.
As gently as a fictional archaeologist removing a golden idol from an ancient Mayan temple, the sandwich was removed from my father's chest and placed on the coffee table next to him without incident. Whoever did it was then able to go back to their chair and accept the glowing adoration of the other person. We continued to watch TV and feel proud of ourselves for having saved his life.
About an half-hour later he abruptly sat up with his eyes closed, mumbled something about his gawdam sandwich, grabbed the keys to his truck and stumbled out the door.
In his underwear.
In the middle of the night.
He went out to his truck and started up the engine, and then just sat there with the door open and the engine running for a good ten minutes or so. He then turned off the engine, came back inside and sat on the couch looking very sad.
"Whatcha doin' Jim?" my Mom said to him.
"Looking for my sandwich" he said, with his eyes still closed (I don't think they opened at all during this entire thing).
"It's right there on the coffee table" she replied.
He opened his eyes, saw the sandwich, got VERY happy and took a bite before clutching it to his chest and instantly falling back to sleep.
LESSON LEARNED: Never take food away from a sleep-eating bear.
So what I'd rather do for him this Father's Day is to remember him in the way he REALLY would have appreciated being remembered... in a funny story :)
I was never certain if it was the booze or just the odd hours he sometimes had to work, but my Dad was a borderline narcoleptic. He would come home, take off his pants, make himself a sandwich and then fall asleep on the couch in mid bite, making Mom and I stay up late to make sure he didn't choke to death somewhere between the snoring and the chewing. It may take him up to three hours to sleep-eat that sandwich, but he WOULD FINISH IT and woe be unto anyone who might try to touch that sandwich before he was done eating it!
And I'm pretty sure he had some sleep apnea going on because it was one of those sleeps where he would SNORE and SNORE and then suddenly SNORESTOP... and Mom and I would look at each other and wait and dare each other to check for a pulse and/or clear the sandwich out of his mouth, but then he would start breathing again and we would both feel relieved.
ONE NIGHT, however, he was passed out there on the couch in his underwear, holding his bologna sandwich, when the snoring stopped long enough for Mom and I to finally go through with it - ONE of us had to go and check. I don't remember if it was me or her that ended up having to go do it, but whoever it was quickly found out that he was indeed still alive and just breathing quietly rather than snoring (*WHEW*). And then whoever it was, and again I don't remember if it was me or my Mom that did this, but whoever it was... DARED TO REMOVE THE SANDWICH.
As gently as a fictional archaeologist removing a golden idol from an ancient Mayan temple, the sandwich was removed from my father's chest and placed on the coffee table next to him without incident. Whoever did it was then able to go back to their chair and accept the glowing adoration of the other person. We continued to watch TV and feel proud of ourselves for having saved his life.
About an half-hour later he abruptly sat up with his eyes closed, mumbled something about his gawdam sandwich, grabbed the keys to his truck and stumbled out the door.
In his underwear.
In the middle of the night.
He went out to his truck and started up the engine, and then just sat there with the door open and the engine running for a good ten minutes or so. He then turned off the engine, came back inside and sat on the couch looking very sad.
"Whatcha doin' Jim?" my Mom said to him.
"Looking for my sandwich" he said, with his eyes still closed (I don't think they opened at all during this entire thing).
"It's right there on the coffee table" she replied.
He opened his eyes, saw the sandwich, got VERY happy and took a bite before clutching it to his chest and instantly falling back to sleep.
LESSON LEARNED: Never take food away from a sleep-eating bear.
