My Daddy has no respect for the hustle…(#94)


No matter how many times I try to convince people that I actually DO write at home, people unintentionally make a lot of assumptions about my time.  I, as far as they are concerned, live within a time vortex that is void of physical limitations, responsibilities, gravity, or time constraints. Therefore, it’s not uncommon for me to be asked to:

1.) Watch someone’s child on a moment’s notice,

2.) Drop off a package at FedEx,

3.) Look up and compare airline ticket prices,

4.) Make a life-changing decision for someone else.

Considering that I oftentimes do need a break from teaching a human how to be human or looking at the blank pages of my Scrivener screen (that’s a writing program), I normally try really hard to not take these arbitrary requests personally.  Besides, I figure that no one in my mental rolodex mocks my declarations for daily productivity as much as my Daddy, who as a retiree also tends to treat me as a retiree.  (Regardless of how many times I try to convince him that I really AM doing something other than watching The Family Feud while at home.)

I love my Dad with all my heart so that’s why I talk to him several times a day about new car models, Good Morning America and Sports Channel highlights, or whether he should eat a Subway and Potbelly sandwich for lunch.

With each detail that he likes to ponder about his meals, I remind myself that helping him decide these “important” issues is the least I could do since he gave me life and 30+ years of support.

Should I get an extra jar of hot peppers for the house?  Hot? Mild? Medium?

What type of chips do you think I should get?  

What’s the name of that cookie your momma likes to get?

(With each question I weep silently…)

It’s usually only once the last detail of his meal is decided / or topic of choice has been fully discussed does he acknowledge that my youngest has likely been yelling, “Want iPad!” or “Uh oh, I boo-boo’d” in the background.

“Well, I see you are busy,” he says coyly.  “You should have told me you were busy.”

“I should have?” I always ask sarcastically. 

“Yes pookie,” he usually replies.

I roll my eyes and laugh because we both know that I never will. 



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