Friday, January 9, 2009

I tried to tell him

My Dad called yesterday. He was just checking in, making sure I was okay and to give a status report on end. All is as well as can be for him and mom. He tries to make it sound as though he's pleased to be in an assisted living facility, but I think it's making him crazy that he's not younger and more active. I was on a path similar to what my father experienced, in that he worked his entire life. From the time he could work, he worked.

It was very much the same for me. In a most technical sense, I started working when I was eight years old. Dad realized I could hit the buttons on the cash register and count back change accurately, so Saturday was my day to help out with the family business. Let me tell you, that $5 he paid me for a day at the register was a fortune, and Sunday was the day for me to enter comic book heaven.

Now Dad and I are in a similar boat. We want to be more active, and we can't do it.

But Dad also wants more for me. It would seem he's accepted the fact that I'm disabled, and that my income will forever be limited. This is not a prospect that either of us likes. He wants me to apply for something called Section 8 Housing. An apartment complex that accepts Section 8 will accept a third of my income as my contribution to rent, and the government will pay the rest. (That's how I understand it.) The problem is that, as far as I know, Section 8 is closed until they catch up with the millions of applications they've already received. Dad was also under the illusion that if I move to a Section 8 community, I'd be safer. He doesn't like that I live in a neighborhood loaded with drugs, prostitution, and violence. Well, I shattered that illusion when I told him that I'm living in a Section 8 community, and they're all like this.

During our housing conversation, I made mention that I was looking into renting the White House for four years come 2012. He instantaneously dismissed it as a stupid joke, and moved on to other topics.

I am resisting the strong urge to call him back and say, "Dad...I wasn't kidding. I've already started campaigning for office." Either it would start a fight, or it would cause him to have a heart attack.

*sigh*

Well, he'll find out eventually. I just have to muster the news to tell him before he sees it on the news.

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