Dad’s Senior Center glee club was having its annual Spring Program. Problem number one. Dad is McNamara, leader of the band. Problem number two. Dad didn’t invite Ma to the program. Problem number three. Dad went out and left Ma all alone for hours and hours with no lunch or dinner. Problems Three, Four, Five, ad infinitum.
Now music is the one thing that keeps Dad sane. He lives to sing and sings to live. Every free minute he gets, he will bring up singing and music. Dad looks forward to Fridays, the day the group rehearses. He loves the applause when the group goes to other Senior Centers, nursing homes, and hospitals for performances. Above all else, Dad loves the chance to get out of the house.
Ma hates the fact that Dad is more mobile than she is. His leaving her alone is his way of thumbing his nose at her. Can’t say that I blame him. Out in public, Ma sings her own aria, The Stupid Song.
Off Dad went as fast as his legs and ride could carry him. Free as a bird and a song in his heart.
I called Sunday evening at 7pm. to remind them about the shoe appointment. Ma was in a tizzy.
“HE left me alone for hours and hours. I haven’t had lunch and no supper.”
Oh, boy. A pity party.
“So he hasn’t come home?”
“I was asleep all afternoon. He might have come home, but I locked the screen door. Someone rang the bell, but I didn’t answer it.”
“If you locked the screen door, how did you expect him to get in?”
“He should have called me when he rang the bell.”
Ah, begging to be let in. Like Fred Flinstone yelling “Wilma!” and pounding on the door to the cave. Control to the feral degree.
What do Ma and The Rolling Stones have in common? Anyone? Anyone? Under My Thumb and Can’t Get No Satisfaction.
Now music is the one thing that keeps Dad sane. He lives to sing and sings to live. Every free minute he gets, he will bring up singing and music. Dad looks forward to Fridays, the day the group rehearses. He loves the applause when the group goes to other Senior Centers, nursing homes, and hospitals for performances. Above all else, Dad loves the chance to get out of the house.
Ma hates the fact that Dad is more mobile than she is. His leaving her alone is his way of thumbing his nose at her. Can’t say that I blame him. Out in public, Ma sings her own aria, The Stupid Song.
Off Dad went as fast as his legs and ride could carry him. Free as a bird and a song in his heart.
I called Sunday evening at 7pm. to remind them about the shoe appointment. Ma was in a tizzy.
“HE left me alone for hours and hours. I haven’t had lunch and no supper.”
Oh, boy. A pity party.
“So he hasn’t come home?”
“I was asleep all afternoon. He might have come home, but I locked the screen door. Someone rang the bell, but I didn’t answer it.”
“If you locked the screen door, how did you expect him to get in?”
“He should have called me when he rang the bell.”
Ah, begging to be let in. Like Fred Flinstone yelling “Wilma!” and pounding on the door to the cave. Control to the feral degree.
What do Ma and The Rolling Stones have in common? Anyone? Anyone? Under My Thumb and Can’t Get No Satisfaction.
2 comments:
LOL! Go, Dad, go!
And Ma, striking back the only way she knew how...locking the door!
Ma's got some wicked streak!
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