Tag Archives: Dad

Late night TV

Staying up past my ‘bedtime’ has been a way of life, all of my life. As much as I love sleep, I happen to like having my sleep start late.

I couldn’t tell you if nature or nurture made me a night owl. My father in particular, loves to stay up late and when I’m in Rehoboth with my family or back home in Scranton, I am shocked if I find my father has gone to sleep before me.

Even in my earliest memories, I exist as a night owl.

When I was a little kid, Dad worked second shift so I spent most nights with Mom and Nana. While Nana would often retreat to her bedroom in the early evening, my goal was to stay downstairs in the den with my TV-watching Mom as late as possible.

I was a good pretender

I was a good pretender

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Why can’t this weekend last longer?

After a week of miserable rain and humidity, Saturday dawned perfectly pleasant: sunny and dry.

Weather

But it wasn’t the prospect of a good hair day that had me smiling. Instead, it was the fact that the future owner of an unwanted – and very, very large – piece of furniture would soon be removed from my bedroom in the new apartment. Continue reading

Eat these cookies!

Life is tense right now.

Concern #1? My beloved Dad is not well. I would appreciate it if you’d send him your very best thoughts for better health.

this is an old photo

this is an old photo

Concern #2: it looks like I have found a new apartment. This is a good thing, but moving is a pain. More on this soon. Continue reading

The other grandmother

It makes me sad not to know if I would have called her Grandmother or Granny or some other name.

It would not be Nana. That name was reserved for my mother’s mother. I never got a chance to call my father‘s mother anything; she died when I was less than a year old. 

I have to use my imagination to fill in the gaps of my real life knowledge.

scanI can only guess that she might have liked to be called Babcia. Continue reading

After Philly: 2 hours in the car with Dad

While I was in Philly, my family suffered two losses. Sunday, in particular, was an awful day.

On Monday, once it was clear that my father was doing well post-procedure and would be released the next day, my mother made the trip north to Scranton while I stayed behind to wait for Dad‘s discharge. Her departure ensured that I got to watch The Bachelorette in the hotel.

On Tuesday, Dad was beyond eager to get home. After six days in a narrow hospital bed, being awakened at all hours for checks of his vital signs and numerous needle sticks, who could blame him? Dad desperately wanted to put on his own clothes and escape, but he still had a heart monitor on him and an IV port for medication delivery. While we waited for final orders, I used a lime popsicle to get him to behave and sit still.

Are all men children for life?

When he got sprung from jail the hospital, we made a break for it.

Together we drove up the Pennsylvania Turnpike in Mom’s Cadillac. Traveling by car with Dad is better than driving with my mother (sorry, Mom). He lets me control the radio and doesn’t criticize my driving.

In fact, he typically falls asleep for approximately 49% of any car trip. It’s only weird when he raises an arm and points zombie-like mid-snooze. Given how much he uses his hands when awake and talking, this should not have surprised me. Dad blames being Polish for that (and lots of other things).

We spent most of the drive tuned into XM-Sirius 90s’ station. Dad didn’t know TLC’s No Scrubs when it came on, but I noticed him tapping his toes to the music and took that as an invitation to give him the history of Chilli, T-Boz and most importantly, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, as well as to explain the concept of a ‘scrub.’

Dad is now fully on-board with the fact that women don’t want or need no scrubs. A scrub would get no love from him should I accidentally date one.

Telling Dad that Left Eye was the one who burned down Andre Rison‘s mansion really put the whole story into focus. He seemed appropriately sad when I told him that Left Eye died in a car accident in Central America.

I was about to tell him about T-Boz’s battle with sickle-cell anemia and Chilli’s history with Usher, but then Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch’s Good Vibrations came on and I had to keep up.

Dad had never made the connection between the actor he likes, Mark Wahlberg, and the dude who “sang” with a funky bunch and lifted cinder blocks on a barbell.

I don’t own this image

I didn’t bring up the wonderful Calvin Klein campaign. There are limits to the things I will discuss with my father. I did, however instruct Dad never to call Mr. Wahlberg “Marky Mark” should he ever meet the actor. Can’t have Dad’s handsome face getting punched.

After passing through the Lehigh Valley tunnel, we hit construction-related traffic. Neither of us were bothered. We had great tunes and even better conversation to help us pass the time.

I intend to drive my father around again when I’m back in Scranton in a few weeks. We haven’t yet exhausted the possibilities of 90s on 9, but there’s still the 80s station.

Philly

Dad is in the hospital.

In Philly two hours from home.

So Mom and I are also in Philly. In violation of all privacy laws, I will tell you that Dad is getting a pacemaker.

Honestly, I’m more anxious about my impending apartment search and move (note: I am not staying put after all thanks to a big rent hike) than Dad’s procedure. At first glance, you’ll probably think I’m a self-involved ass for that.

But I swear: apartment hunting in NYC is generally more stressful than getting a pacemaker. Weird, right?

I’m approaching Dad’s procedure as a great thing actually. The doctor thinks he’ll feel like a new man once the pacemaker is in. Fingers crossed.

I hope to return to NYC Tuesday. And to blogging soon after that.

xoxo

Update: Dad’s procedure went great.