“Hey, you think she’s single?” my father asked as the beautiful nurse breezed past.
“DAD!” I hissed, “Remember what we talked about, please. I’m begging you. Do. Not. Flirt.”
In a put-on, aged voice he creaked, “Why no, honey. I don’t remember. I’m just an old man. You can’t expect me to remember everything.”
The teasing did nothing to soothe my irritation.
“Knock it off!” I growled.
My good old dad. At 19, he paused his college career to serve in the U.S. Army. His Midwestern patriotism, ability to swiftly learn languages and an unfathomable amount of grit delivered him to Fort Bragg and then to Vietnam as what’s commonly known as a “Green Beret.”
He’s getting older by the minute and physically affected by his wartime activities—activities I didn’t learn much about until I was older. He never really talked about it to his children. All we ever knew of him was the strict disciplinarian and unyielding deliverer of punishments he was. He’s tough. Like, really tough. However, he has a weakness.
Women.
This Boomer can’t help but comment on women’s beauty, and he can’t comprehend that not all women want to hear his opinion of their beauty.
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” he’ll say to a nurse at the VA Hospital.
“Hey, doc…when I get out of here, you wanna go get a coffee with me?” he’ll gleefully chuckle to his physician.
“You know I don’t need this wheelchair, right?” he’ll say. “I could hop right up and carry you out the door!”
Much to my relief, these women laugh right along with him. Sometimes, they join in like the wheelchair-wielding nurse.
“Honey. If you can pick me up and carry me on my rounds, you’re more than welcome to!” They both belly-laughed.
I’ve tried to tell him that the younger the medical professional, the less he should say. He pretends to be wounded.
“I don’t say anything untoward. I’m not being dirty. I’m just…complimentary.”
“You’re fresh.”
“That’s better than dirty.”
I suppose he’s right. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve apologized for his behavior. Most medical professionals I’ve apologized to wave it off good-naturedly.
One nurse dressed me down.
“Don’t apologize! I enjoy it when Mr. F. comes in. That man makes me laugh and brings joy to my day. We don’t always get that around here Miss Thing,” she admonished. “My day isn’t always pleasant, but your daddy is.”
Our last conversation about the issue got a little heated.
“You’ve gotta stop saying things like that.”
“You’ve gotta stop trying to teach an old dog new tricks.”
“No. We don’t think that way anymore. Dad, someone’s going to get mad at you one day. How would you like it if someone spoke to me that way?”
“Oh. I’d feel terrible for that man. You’re the meanest girl ever.”
“I AM NOT MEAN,” I yelled, glaring.
Then I saw it: that crooked grin, the playful gleam in his eye and the sense that he knows you know he’s teasing, which makes it impossible to stay mad at him. (Unless you’re my mother. Divorced, she’s been annoyed with him for 40 years).
During our last trip to the VA the nurse escorted him out of his room, both grinning.
“Amy, meet my fiancé, Barb,” Dad trumpeted.
“Yep,” Barb enthusiastically agreed. “We’re packing up and running away together!”
I shook my head. Watching them, my lip curls just a little. Then I giggled and laughed along with them.
I’m grateful that Dad still has a sense of humor despite the tragedies in his life. I’m further grateful that his medical professionals—these wonderful, educated, caring women—put up with his nonsense. After all, my father respects and values them. It’s just that his way of letting them know is to offer compliments…and maybe a marriage proposal or two.
By Amy Gesell
