Making My Dad Crazy

Holidays always has my brother back home with my folks. Bill contracted spinal meningitis as a 1 year old baby and the fever caused irreversible brain damage. He navigates through life at about a 2nd grade level. Pretty happy most of the time, unless my folks are bugging him too much and then he becomes as bull headed as anyone you'll ever see. Anyone that can hold a smile back when Bill announces "I like you very much" has got something busted in their appreciation gland.

Anyway, Dad was feeling a little funky today and didn't want to make the 140 mile round trip to take Bill back to his place, so I drove him and my Mom down there this afternoon. Mom was on her best behavior, so that was cool. I bought ice cream at Sonic on the way home and became her hero for the day. Dad though...lol Dad likes to give instructions.

A for instance, and this is a classic. Dad will come down to the farm shop while I'm say... changing motor oil in a tractor or dozer or whatever. The concrete kills him anymore so he'll stand around for a little while then pulls up a chair beside where I'm working and give me step by step procedure doing something that I've done most like a few hundred times.

It kills my son when he hears it. Everything will be announced from the size of wrench that I need for the oil plug to where the new filter is (which is "filther" in Norm/Dad) stored in the shop, how much oil I'm gonna need, don't forget to note the hour meter reading and date, don't forget to prime the oil filters (filthers lol) don't over tighten the filters (filthers) and on and on. I really don't mind. I know he'd be doing it if he could stand to be on his feet much, and I always get a laugh from something he comes up with, so it's all cool if he wants to do that.

But I also like to tease and get maximum mileage from the "instructions" that he doles out. :-)

Today I've got my brother in the front seat of Dad's Lincoln beside me, and Miss Daisy in the backseat getting ready to give instructions of her own. Dad is standing beside the car in the garage and he suddenly pulls my door open.

Dad: "Jace, don't forget to get Bill's suitcase out of the trunk when you get down there"

Me: (playing dumb) What suitcase?

Dad: You know what suitcase... the only suitcase in the dang trunk.

Me: Ohhhh that suitcase.

Dad: Don't mess up my settings on my seat and stuff.

Me: *pushing and poking every seat adjustment button at once*

Dad: You damned honyock. What's wrong with you?

Me: *grinning*

Dad: The last time you drove my car you messed up all the heat and air stuff too. It's all programmed the way I like it. Just move the temperature button and leave everything else alone.

Me: *turning to Bill* Hey Bill, see all these buttons all over the dash? Just poke any of 'em that you want. We'll figure out what happens later... okay?

Dad: Bill, don't do what Jace says... he's just causing trouble.

And then Dad closes the door. I start to creep back out of the garage and I'll be danged if he didn't grab the door handle again and open my door!

Dad: Jace, drive careful.

Me: *maniacal laugh*

Dad: Shirley, fasten your seat belt back there.

Miss Daisy: Yes dear *heavy sarcasm*

Dad closes my door. I lock all 4 doors. I then step on the brakes and load her up a bit with the accelerator, with it in reverse.... and do a little reverse tire squealing outta the garage and out the driveway. Dad just standing there in the middle of the garage, mouth moving and lots of hand motions.

Miss Daisy: *laughing* Jace you oughta be ashamed.

Me: I am mom.

Bill: OH BOY!! HERE WE GO!

It was fun.

Another thing, my Dad has a gas mileage fetish. He ALWAYS checks his mileage every single time he fills up with gas. Years ago he had bought a new Chevy pickup that was just horrible on gas... A real stinker. The poor guy was pissed off every time he filled it up, so..... everytime I drove it without him, I made a point of stopping and putting in a gallon of gas. Maybe 2, but absolutely no more. This went on for months. He couldn't figure out how come he'd have these fits of greatly improved gas mileage out of the clear blue and everytime he'd mention it, I'd have to just stare at the floor while he discussed it with himself outloud.

I eventually confessed when he started talking about spending a bunch of money to get it fixed once and for all. If I remember he just looked at me and shook his head.

I get my entertainment where I can find it.