Two Stories about my father

My dad's a strange cat. Every couple of years I ask him where he's going when he dies. He usually answers by asking me where a toaster goes when it dies. I ask him if this scares him and it doesn't. That weirds me out. I don't know where we go. I figure we just quit being, but I at least have the decency to be scared out of my wits about it. Anyway, here are two stories that I feel capture my dad pretty accurately. I call them my Zen stories not because my dad is any kind of Zen master. I seriously doubt my father has ever used the word zen. But these tales illustrate what I see as a very zen approach to dealing with life. An approach that my dad has done his best to impart to me. The bit of it I've managed to grasp has helped me deal with the world around me tremendously. And a quick note to my dad, if he should read this; I don't care if I got these stories right. It's you who taught me that telling a good story is way more important than telling a true story.

Me and my Dad. We've since given up the devil horns.

Zen Story One

Two instances in my life taught me about a wonderful trait of my father's while teaching me just the kind of lesson a kid should learn from his pops.

The first instance was relayed to me second hand, many times, by my father who loves to get the maximum mileage out of a good story and expects you to keep quiet if you’ve heard if before. As the story goes, my dad went out to get a bite to eat. Outside of the restaurant a man stood talking to himself, passionately.

"No! No, you can’t come in! NO! You stay here!" the man spoke loudly to his unseen companion.
Dad didn’t think much of it and headed into the eatery. Inside things were tense as everyone focused on the crazy man on the sidewalk. The girl at the counter was pondering whether or not to call the police. Dad, deciding he’d better step in with his unique superpower and save the day, stepped back outside.

The one sided argument continued. "You can’t go inside. No! Wait for me here! NO, I will not. You have to stay out, you can’t go in. You can’t."

Approaching the increasingly agitated, seemingly insane man my dad casually suggested, "Hey, why don’t you let him come in with you? He looks hungry."

The stranger's attention now focused on my father in the form of an agitated leer. Dad smiled back politely waiting for a response. After a few more awkward seconds the man again addressed his imaginary friend, "Okay fine. Come on."

My dad held the door for the two friends and followed them inside where everyone had a pleasant and uneventful meal.

Zen Story Two

The second time my father was called on to use his abilities to diffuse a tense situation came when my parents relocated my Uncle Cy to Los Angeles from New York. Cy was growing older and as senility set in he began suffering from paranoid delusions. Most of our family had left New York and it was agreed by all that Cy needed to be brought out west as well so that he could be assisted and looked after.

The move to a small one bedroom apartment at the top of a long unpleasant stairway was completed and Cy seemed to have taken to the move just fine, he was pleasant and sounded glad to be in sunny California. Different family members took turns checking in on Cy and all seemed well for the first couple of weeks. My father and I stopped by to pay Cy a visit and found him in an agitated state. He hurried us inside and with great urgency told my father, "I’m gonna have to move."

I was scared to see my Uncle like this, though I had been told of his weakening grasp on reality. If my father was uncomfortable or troubled he didn’t show it, expressing instead a sincere concern for Cy’s trouble. "Why, Cy? What’s going on?" he asked.

"They found me. Dammit! They found me here. They know where I live. We’ll have to find another apartment. I can’t stay here, they know where I am."

My father appeared to share Cy's frustration. "Damn that was quick."

I was beginning to wonder how firm my dad’s grasp on reality was. I wanted to pull him aside and remind him that Cy was "having some troubles" just as my mother had explained it to me.
Then my father placed one hand on Cy’s shoulder and took a hold of my hand with the other. "Cy, we moved you thousands of miles and they found you this quickly. What are we gonna do now? Move you a couple of blocks? I think we’re just gonna have to live with them."

Cy considered this for a moment, lips pursed, brow furrowed. Then, "Yeah John, I guess you're right. I guess we’ll just deal with ‘em. Dammit!"

Cy never mentioned moving again as he settled into his routine of doctor’s visits and family lunches.