Recently, I was going through personal files and came across a letter that Ihad written to my three adult children a few years ago. I revised the letter, indicating a brief up-to-date scorecard. Here is the revised letter re-sent:
Dear Kids:
Your Mother and I are doing fairly well in our golden years as it would pertain to our abilities to 'care' for ourselves. We understand that change occurs and ultimately the day will arrive when 'others' may need to care for us. Mother's plan is simple and straight forward; she wishes to go into a nursing home. I, on the other hand, do not. It is not that I believe for a moment that a nursing home is not good enough for me. I am confident that I could become accustom to the odors and institutional cooking. The reason I reject the nursing home option is predicated on the disdain I hold for those younger nursing home employees 'telling' me when I should eat, play bingo and do crafts. Therefore, I have decided that I will live with one of you children. I know this is exciting news and yet I wish it not to cause tension between you siblings as you jockey to gain some 'inside' track to win this coveted lottery of a lifetime!
Using the baseball vernacular, 'three strikes and you're out,' here is the score /rankings to date:
Oldest daughter, Dawn has two strikes. The first strike happened when she and son-in law, Shawn on two different occasions ran their automobiles into mine while backing out of their garage!. Obviously, these folks don't bother to turn and look when backing up an automobile. Given my advanced age, hearing issues and slower movement gate, I fear that I could be 'run over.'
Dawn's second strike happened when she left her young daughter at school with no ride home. The child was told, "Mommy will pick you up, don't worry." This carefree chauffeuring attitude would cause great stress upon an old- fella needing a lift home from the 'Senior Center' at closing time in the dreadful Chicago winter months!
Son, Steve has one strike for subjecting me to a long-distance car ride from Pittsburgh, PA. after attending a weekend baseball series with my twelve-year old triplet grandsons who consumed a ridiculous amount of bodily gas producing foods!! Imagine traveling seventy-five miles per hour (for hours) down an interstate highway in an 'outhouse!'
Youngest daughter, Pamela has one strike for making fun of the manner in which I talk to my toy poodle, Yodie.
Bless your anticipating hearts,
Dad
PS. I shall attempt to remain 'independent' for as long as I can and thus allowing you all attitude adjustment time.
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