I have always called him Daddy. Mom is Mom. I don't think I've called her Mommy since I was six. It's a Southern father/daughter kind of thing--even though I grew up in the Midwest. But Daddy is from Oklahoma and that is South enough for his daughters. My brother will call him Pops or Dad or even "the old man," but that is a whole 'nother story and has nothing to do with our lunch!
Mr. KCKay and I took him to a steakhouse. Daddy does enjoy his beef! We made arrangements to meet at 12:30 and all of us got there around 1:00. Typical. I got held up at work and Mom found a garage sale on the way. Seated and having ordered we proceeded to catch up. The topic of conversation inevitably lead to "all of the other places we could have eaten." My folks eat out a lot these days. They're in their 80's and pretty much past the excitement of cranking out meals, gourmet or otherwise. Besides, Daddy was a cook in the Army and has no more gotten the hang of cooking for less than a platoon than Mom has not cooking for her entire family. So the conversation always comes around to restaurants. My husband and I consider them our scouts. If a place we talk about gets a thumbs up from those two then we make a mental note give it a try.
There's something special about one-on-one time with your parents. From birth to adulthood it is perfection to have ones parents attention free of any sibling rivalry. It's even more precious now.
Due to macular degeneration in both eyes Daddy has slowly been going blind. He spent his entire life working and playing with his hands: woodworking, auto repair, mechanics, fishing...just tinkering. He can't do that anymore. A combination of bleeding and scar tissue in his eyeballs have robbed all but a sliver of his sight...and then he can only distinguish dark and light. This is very hard for him to handle.
It's hard for us to handle. I don't remember him ever crying when I was growing up. Daddy's don't cry. They suck it up. They dry your tears--not the other way around. But just recently, after a visit at our place, I remember sitting in the car with him while he waited on Mom. He cried and my heart broke. "I just want to be able to see my grandkids" he said. What do you do when the man you have depended upon is now depending on you?
"Oh, Daddy," I said. "It's just as well. They all turned out pretty ugly." It worked. He laughed. I'll take his smile and his laugh over his tears anytime.
I'll do whatever it takes to help him cope with his loss of vision. He may be down, but he's not out--no sir! He is not a quiter. Just don't cry anymore, Daddy. Please.
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