Dad. William Wharton

      We pile our clothes in the car and Dad finishes his popsicle. I don’t want him charging in the house with a Popsicle hanging out of his mouth; that’d do Mother in for sure. We drive the car into the patio and start unloading. Mom is out of bed and opens the side door. Dad and I carry the clothes in. When I go into the kitchen, I see she’s fixed lunch.

      I stand a minute trying to figure how to handle it. I resent treating her as a child; I don’t want her seeing me angry, either. I decide to accept. I can’t figure any other procedure more likely to discourage this kind of stupidity.

      Well, that’s the way our days go. Mom’s into everything and there’s nothing Dad or I can do right. She’s even complaining Dad isn’t brushing his teeth at night.

      ‘You have to watch him, Jacky; he’ll only scrub the front and forget the rest.’

      This is about a man with every tooth in his head. Mother has bridges across the whole back of her mouth. At first, we keep trying harder. We sweep, vacuum, line garbage pails, scrub toilets, dust, beat rugs, the whole scene; but it’s all wrong.

      Joan comes and I tell her what’s going on. She laughs and sits down.

      ‘Don’t you know, Johnny, nobody can please Mom? I thought you knew that. Every week I come here to help with heavy cleaning like washing windows, scrubbing floors. I know she’ll do it all over again, wash every window a second time, muttering the whole while. It’s Mom’s pleasure to convince herself, and everybody else, that nobody’s as good at anything as she is. The world is filled with two kinds of people, Bette McCarthy and the rest. The rest are incompetent and basically filthy. Relax, Jack, live with it. You and Dad have a good time; you can’t win.’

      Hell, I know all this. Only in my enthusiasm about how well Dad’s doing, I forgot.

      Joan can’t get over how sharp, full of life, he is. It’s hard to believe it’s the same man. I tell Joan some of the things we’ve been doing; the Oar House, sailing, motorcycling. She thinks it’s all fine but we’d better not let Mom find out.

      ‘She’ll make life miserable for him, Johnny. And if she ever hears about that beard; God in heaven. All the noise I’ve listened to about your beard; it’d kill her for sure.’

      We’re both giggling. Mom’s napping, Dad’s out in the greenhouse.

       Plowing for sod corn, new-cut ground turned close, one row onto the other, small tufts of grass and reeds marking the depth of furrows. Jimmy pulls, slowly, easily; and I lean, just strong enough to turn over topsoil; corduroying the earth.

      The next day when I go to do the bathroom, the tub’s been scrubbed. This is too much. If there’s anything a heart patient shouldn’t do, scrubbing a tub must be high on the list. Mother’s in the patio sunning with Dad. I go out.

      ‘Mother! Did you scrub the tub?’

      ‘Jacky, it was such a mess, rings of dirt and water splashes all over everything, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’m sure you two step straight out of a tub and never look back; you leave curly hairs over everything and an inch thick of scum. I may be sick but I don’t have to live in a pigpen.’

      ‘Come on, it wasn’t that bad. I just went in to scrub it out. You only had to wait another ten minutes. For ten minutes with a few hairs in a bathtub you put your whole life on the line.’

      I’m working up a stupid mad.

      ‘Dad and I are doing our best while you spend your time making things difficult. Mother, I’m telling you right now, if you don’t lie back, take it easy and do as the doctor says, I fly home tomorrow. If what we do isn’t good enough, hire a professional nurse. Do whatever it is you have to do but I’m not taking any more nonsense.’

      Mother looks at me, then starts crying.

      ‘If I can’t even do a little work around my own house, what’s the use of living. You know he can’t do anything.’

      She flings her arm in Dad’s direction.

      ‘Joan never comes and you’re only waiting so you can go back to Europe with all the foreigners.’

      I turn and walk into the house while she’s raving. Dad comes in after me. I’m getting lunch ready. He’s upset; we all are.

      ‘It’s not her fault, Johnny; don’t be so hard; it’s not easy for her to relax, you know how she is.’

      ‘Sure, Dad. But remember: this isn’t only the usual spoiling, letting her have her own way; she can very easily die. I don’t intend to watch her kill herself out of pride, and a frustrated need to dominate.

      ‘And you’ve got to stand up to her, too, Dad; for her good and yours. It’s something we can’t put off. If she’s going to wash out bathtubs, there’s no chance she’ll live; I’m not kidding.’

      I can’t tell if he understands. He’s so scared he’s into his nodding routine, looking serious and doing his worker-boss thing.

      ‘You’re right, Johnny. You’re absolutely right. I’ll talk to her. She’s crying out there alone; she doesn’t cry much; crying can’t be good for her heart, either.’

      ‘It’s better than scrubbing tubs, Dad.’

      God, will we have to watch her all the time? I go back out with sandwiches, beer and some Coke for Mom. She’s still red-eyed, wiping away tears. She won’t look at me.

      ‘Listen, Mom. You’ve got Dad worried to death with your bullheadedness but I’m not going to say another word. If you want to climb up on that roof right now and start tap dancing, I’ll sit here and applaud. If you get a scrub brush and start scrubbing the lawn, that’s OK with me.

      ‘Then, when you have your next heart attack, I’ll try to help, I’ll try getting you to the hospital on time again and maybe they can save you. If they can’t, I’ll make arrangements for the funeral and help set Dad up. But that’s it. I refuse to treat you like a baby! You’re a grown woman, you’re not senile and it’s your life. If you want to kill yourself, that’s up to you.’

      I pause to let it sink in. She’s looking at me now.

      ‘Do you understand, Mom? There won’t be another word from me. It’s up to you; you take hold of your own life. I think you have more sense than you’ve shown so far. I think you really want to live but you enjoy pestering the life out of Dad and me. Eat your lunch.’

      After this it’s better. Now she has to prove she isn’t stupid. But her idea of what she can do without hurting herself is bizarre. I feel sorry for Dad because the whole guard duty falls on him. I shake my head in disbelief when she makes a bed or washes out undies, but I say nothing.

      Marty calls most evenings and says she’ll come over to spell me if I want. I tell her it’s OK; I know how much Mom bugs her and almost everything about Marty annoys Mom. Mostly that she’s young and has her own life.

      After two weeks, it’s time to take Mother back for a checkup. I call the doctor ahead of time and ask him to throw the fear of God into her because she’s too active.

      He does a great scene but I can see Mother sitting inside herself resisting. He shows her the X-rays but she scarcely looks. He gets out the cardiograms, explains her blood chemistry, pulls out charts to show which part of her heart is affected. It’s not registering; she doesn’t want to know. Afterward, when I’m pushing Mom out to the parking lot in a wheelchair, she turns and looks back at me.

      ‘Jacky, I don’t think he’s a real doctor. I’m sure he’s not a heart specialist. Did you see that belt he was wearing and those tight pants? He’s another hippy. They let anybody get through medical school these days. He’s probably only a student anyhow, he can’t be thirty years old.’

      I disappoint her and keep my mouth shut. All the way home she stays on the same themes, knocking Dr Coe and the Perpetual Hospital. Then she starts