Dealing With Dad
My father is about
to reach his eighty sixth birthday in a couple of weeks. Three years ago last
Christmas, he had a stroke that left him pretty much paralyzed on his left
side. Since I retired only a few months later, I became his main caregiver.
That means that most of the time I’m staying with my father at his house to
take care of him and prevent him from having to go into a nursing home. I do
get to go home, most of the time, to spend time with my wife on the weekends. But
let me tell you a little about my father. He was raised in Breaux Bridge, La.
and was the only boy with six sisters. To say he was spoiled rotten would
probably be an understatement. His sister and my grandmother admitted as much
to me on several occasions. He moved to Pt. Arthur, TX and, after working for a
while for one of my uncles on my mother’s side of the family, joined the police
department. He worked his way up through the ranks there. I do have a few vague
memories of the times when he was a patrolman, but most of my earliest memories
of those days revolve around the time when he was a desk Sargent. I would
sometimes go with him to work in those days and hang around watching the
nightly dramas unfold in the busy police station. I guess that’s why I never
liked the show “Cops” on TV. Saw enough of the real thing when I was young.
Anyway, he moved up the ladder quickly until he became a Lt. Detective. Finally
he had reached the point to where he was next in line to become Chief of
Police. But when the old Chief retired, they picked a man in the department who
had less seniority than my father. Their reason was that he had more formal
education than dad did. So he became the next Chief of Police instead of my
father. Dad decided that he couldn’t stay there any longer and was offered a
position with the County District Attorney’s office as the chief investigator.
He jumped on that offer. He remained in that position until he was forced out
of it at age 60. He’s been retired ever since then. In his position of command,
dad has acquired the habit of giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed
without question. I don’t think in his entire life he has ever had to ask
anyone for anything politely and say please. Another characteristic that seems
innate is his extreme impatience. Don’t tell him you will be here at 1:00
o’clock and not show up exactly at 1:00 o’clock or a little before. He will be
on the phone calling a minute after one wanting to know where you’re at. And it’s really worse than that about most
things. He didn’t do well in the hospital where it is always hurry up and wait
or I’ll be right back and then never show up again. He would not do well in a
nursing home, and I feel for the nurses there if he ever has to go to one. On
top of all this he has some lifelong prejudices that I find very hard to live
with. I am nothing like my father. In fact I’m the exact opposite than him on
most things, and I hate being given orders ever since my four year stent in the
U.S. Army. To say that we butted horns in those first couple of years since his
stroke would again be a huge understatement. I used to go home on the weekends
stressed out to the max. Not only did dad’s ways stress me out, but I was
dealing with a good deal of resentment for having to spend my retirement years
away from what I had always planned on for this time in my life. My poor wife
had to deal with me at least for the first day of every weekend just trying to
come to terms with my pent up anger and resentment. In her wisdom (which I
greatly value and appreciate) she pointed out that dad didn’t have a problem
that needed fixing – I did. She insisted that my father was 85 years old and
not likely to ever change at this stage in his life. Me expecting him to was
ridiculous. So the problem was not getting him to change, but getting me to. I
admit that I was a little embarrassed by the simplicity of the solution to my
problems that should have been obvious to me. It has not always been simple to
put into practice, however. I have to often take deep breaths and count to ten.
But now I’m okay with not being asked to do things. I simply do what he demands
and let it go. His impatience I still find a little annoying, but I’m working
on that too. And as far as his prejudices, I just turn a deaf ear to it now and
let it go understanding that he will never change. This last year has been much
more harmonious. And as far as the resentment for being here instead of where
I’d rather be? Well let’s just say that I’ve decided that the time spent
getting to really know my father (and myself) is worth it. So the point in all this is that
when you face problems or difficult people in your life, don’t automatically
expect them to change to suit you. Sometimes that is just too much to ask. The
one thing you can always change in any equation is you. And if you can’t (or won't) do
that, then it is just better to walk away.
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