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Mark Wahlberg used to drag around a stuffed monkey as a child.

April 1, 2014

Ironically I mentioned in my previous post that my father avoids leaving the house unless the trip involves seeing Timber and me. However, last weekend on my mother’s Birthday he refused to come to Atlanta, where we all planned to convene and celebrate. While Daddy’s disinterest hurt Mother’s feelings at first, his absence allowed her, Timber, and me to enjoy a leisurely lunch at No. 246 and then traipse around a couple shops without having to worry about his anxiety levels in a strange location.

Mother and Timber at No. 246

Mother and Timber at No. 246

Last year a friend whose father had been ill for several years bemoaned her tendency to think of him in the past tense even before his passing. I fear I have begun to reference Daddy in the same way. For example, at my physical therapy appointment yesterday morning, I discovered that my therapist teaches Sunday School.

“My father used to teach Sunday School,” I responded.

I say “My father used to…” a lot. “My father used to walk every morning before work.” –OR– “My father used to call me every day.”

My father doesn’t do anything anymore.

A couple weeks ago on my 30th Birthday Daddy rode with Mother to take me out to lunch. When we arrived back at my house my friend Jesse was waiting in the driveway. I immediately started giving Mother grief for some of the ridiculous things she said on the drive back from Farm Burger to break a couple stretches of silence.

Mark Wahlberg used to drag around a stuffed monkey as a child. That came out on Wahlburgers.

*More Silence*

I didn’t know Donnie Wahlberg was a New Kid on the Block.

“I actually didn’t know that either,” Jesse said after I mocked Mother in front of my house.

Once we walked inside Mother stampeded into my bedroom and ran out holding my tattered 28-year-old teddy bear over her head.

“Jesse, here’s the teddy bear that Bobbin still sleeps with every night!!! ! !” she proclaimed.

“I can’t believe you!” I huffed, mouth agape.

“Bobbin, you dole out so much shit but can’t take any yourself,” Jesse noted.

During the commotion as well as the consumption of ice cream and cake Daddy lay on the couch in the living room staring at the ceiling. I offered to turn on the TV, but he remained content taking a trip through Alzheimer’s La La Land.

Daddy is the wraith in the other room. He is sort of there. My father used to love Birthdays.

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