You know, at a certain point in life, dealing with an elderly parent is like fighting with a large 4-year-old. I lived with my dad for a number of years (he made the mistake of saying “Son, you can move back in and live here till you’re eighty” not realizing I’d take him up on it). When I moved in, he was being the good father and helping me out, but eventually, our roles reversed and I became the parent taking care of him:
Me: I think your laundry is damp.
Dad: It’s fine.
Me: Hand it over.*checks* Yep, it’s going back in the dryer.
Dad: *grumble grumble grumble*
Me: Hey, you can’t wear that shirt — it’s wrinkled!
Dad: *puts wrinkled shirt on*
It’s definitely odd when the roles reverse. I don’t know how many times I had to tell him not to eat cookies while lying down on the couch — not that he listened. Finding him asleep on the couch with a half-eaten cookie hanging out of his mouth became routine. He also left more crumb trails than Hansel and Gretel in the forest. My siblings and I started calling him the Cookie Monster.
Anyway, we shared a birthday on Feb. 25 (He used to joke I was a rotten birthday gift because he couldn’t return me), so I was just thinking about him on Monday and got a Facebook reminder about this memory. It’s funny, having the same b’day used to screw him up. On more than one occasion he put his birth year of 1936 down while filling out forms for me when I was little. When I was five, an airman working at the base hospital glanced at my form and said, “Damn, that’s one old kid.”
Even though it got to be difficult in the last year of his life, I still miss the old guy. He could be ornery, but as my mom used to say “You’ve got a father in a million.” And she was right.
He had a lot of awesome stories, and I kick myself for not writing them down.
6 thoughts on “Musings: When your “Kid” is Way Older than You”
What a wonderful post and I hear ya. They do become like kids with age.
My parents are coming over to visit us, which is sth I’m looking forward too but which also scares me shitless. 5 long weeks, gee…We’re fine the first 3 tops, then everyone turns cranky. But, though I bitch, I know I’ll miss them one day.
Thank you, Bojana. Wow, 5 weeks is a long time. Good luck! ha ha Seriously, I hope you guys have a great time during their visit.
My mom became “my child”. One story I love to tell and laugh about was giving her a bath. She hated showers and I’d have a hard time convincing her she had to take a bath at least once a week. I had a terrible time getting her in and out of tub. Heaven for bid that I should ask Jerry for help. So, one time I ran about 2 inches of water in the tub, got her in without her slipping, handed her the soap and wash cloth and let her do her thing. She called me when she was done, I let the water out and tried to get her out after drying her off and making the area “non slip”. She did not co operate, so I started to laugh. She looked at me like I was crazy and asked me why I was laughing. I said that since I couldn’t get her out of the tub, I would get her a pillow and a blanket and she could sleep in there. Well, by golly, in a few minutes she was on her knees, reaching her hand out to me and I managed to get her out. Not long after than I had to put her in a care home and then hospice and they gave her showers. I miss her.
That’s too funny, Margaret! Yeah, bath time could be a challenge, that’s for sure.
So, I remember sitting at that same counter with Bridget and Kevin after he licked all the chips so we wouldn’t/couldn’t eat them!!! Gross!!! But what a happy fun memory.
I assume you mean Kevin? lol