Dad is lying on the chaise, eyes closed.
Me: Leave him alone, dogs.
Dad: What?
Me: I was telling the dogs to leave you alone.
Dad: That’s probably a good idea… But your dogs have privileges that other dogs don’t have. We’re friends. It’s really hard to get mad at your dogs. (Violet noses at his elbow.) Hey! I’m getting mad at you.
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Dad: Redford is such an intelligent dog.
(12 hours later) Come here, Violet… Not you, Redford, you BONEHEAD.
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During a two-block walk I forced him to go on, Dad: (seriously) Oh this was a great idea!… If I live through it.
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Dad: (referring to the scenery somewhere north of Hillsborough, NC) People are missing out on this gorgeous countryside! (gesturing to a sign for a local business) Full of fascinating rednecks!
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Dad: (in Virginia) 3.09! They’re givin away gasoline!
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Dad: (reading a sign for an unfortunately named town in Virginia) Hurt, 2 miles. (mumbling) Masochists welcome.
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Dad: I’ve always been resistant to change. Starting with Camp Miller. Lutheran camp my parents sent me to for two horrific weeks. Felt like two years. Terrible place where they taught you to make lariats and things like that.
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Dad: Boy I’ll be glad to get out of this car. Not that I haven’t enjoyed talking at you.
[Note he didn’t say to me.]
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Dad: I used to have a pocketknife like that. No idea what happened to it.
Me: Probably got confiscated when you went through airport security at some point.
Dad: Probably. You noticed?—the TSA has gotten conspicuously lax in their screenings lately. I got half a pat-down last time. It’s like an edict was sent out, Perfunctory Pat-Downs for Old People. I mean, I’m not looking for thrills or anything, but seriously, the guy did one leg.
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Dad: (futzing around in the morning at our favorite Red Roof Inn) Verily I say unto you, I’m getting my ass in gear.
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Dad: (patting my hand like he pats the dogs’ heads) Pat pat pat pat pat.
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Dad: Just the concept of Connecticut bores me.
(a little later) Imagine you’re alive. And you have to live the rest of your fucking life in Hartford, Connecticut.
(still in Hartford) I need a cigarette. This place makes me want to take up smoking again.
[My father hasn’t smoked in over 50 years.]
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Dad: I’m nothing if not… Nothing if not…
Me: You’re nothing if not what?
Dad: ORGANIZED.
(20 minutes later) It’s great to have a junk bag or a junk box you can just throw things in.
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Dad: (after an hour and a half of nonstop complaints, 100% sincere) I’m so happy. ‘Cause I’m with you.
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Dad: OH MY ACHIN ASS.