Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas

God dammit.

This is annoying.

I have to find a piece of paper.

A very important piece of paper.

A piece of paper that I need to hand over today so I can start over, start fresh.

And.

I can’t find it.

I’ve turned my place upside down and inside out.

I’ve looked through my files, in drawers, on refrigerator clips, in the glove box of my car, and behind my furniture.

I’m an obsessive organizer and nothing drives me battier than losing stuff, especially when it’s important and time sensitive.

I’m hoping it’ll turn up in my office at work. That’s why I’m heading in at o-dark-thirty to turn that office upside down.

Wish me luck.

On the bright side, my home office area is spotless and I found two things that I was looking for last week. They were exactly where they should have been.

See? I don’t have an organization problem. I just need a better search engine.

Update: The paper wasn’t at work. Fortunately, I was able to get a replacement copy in time. Again, I have been saved by the graciousness of others. It must be a karma payback for all of that spare change I put in other people’s parking meters at the airport.

Dad at Christmas about seven years ago

Today my dad’s turning 79.

Frankly, anyone who knows him is shocked. Hell, he’s shocked.

You see, most of the males in his family passed in their 40′s and 50′s. For him, a mid-life crisis was akin to a bucket list.

Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t jumping out of planes or curing cancer. His bucket was full of reckless consumption.

His idea of portion control was using a spoon to eat an entire pecan pie (from the tin, mind you) while sitting in his recliner.

For him, safety precautions were things like wrapping a dish towel around the gallon of ice cream so his lap wouldn’t get too cold.

My dad was to Pepsi as Homer Simpson was to Duff Beer.

Now he’s become a cautionary tale with severe heart disease, diabetes, and all of the complications that come along with these serious conditions.

Despite all of the pleas and nagging by his doctors and his family, he is hell bent to keep most of his habits. Moderation is not in his vocabulary.

His physical and mental decline have left him shut-in and unable to leave the house except for doctors appointments, medical tests and the occasional shopping trip. It’s hard for all of us to watch. I see him slip a little more week after week. For my siblings who only see him once or twice a year, if that, the decline is even more pronounced.

It breaks my heart. The father of my childhood is long gone.

That said, I love the man he is now, as he stumbles to the backyard to watch Boo’s latest swimming feats. As he questions how I can raise two children and work full time. As he tries to keep names and birthdays straight. As he asks for a pet that he can’t and won’t take care of.

He knew his days were numbered. He just thought the numbers were lower.

Dad in 2007

With all of my love, I wish him a happy birthday. Next year I hope that he, as he puts it, is still looking at the grass from the top-side.