I realized this morning how different from my father I am.

You see, my father was more of a houseguest than family.  Take Sunday mornings, for example.  He would sleep until the smell of breakfast woke him, then stumble to the kitchen table.  A hot cup of Folger’s would magically appear in front of him, as well as the paper and an ashtray.  After drinking his first pot of coffee, smoking a few cigarettes, and reading the paper in complete silence, he would move to the living room, where he would manage to find a sports program on one of the three channels we had at the time.  The rest of Sunday would be spent watching football, baseball, basketball, hockey, bowling, skiing, steeplechase, spitting for distance, arm wrestling, or whatever else Howard Cosell had to show him.  Copious amounts of coffee would be consumed, as well as his lunch and dinner.  The only interaction we seemed to have was when we were told to change the channel, get him more coffee, or empty the ashtray.  If it was winter, he would spend the day in his thermal underwear.  If it was summer, it was tighty whities and tee shirts.

Let’s contrast this with my morning so far.  Moonshine woke me up at about 7.  He was hungry and desperately needed to visit the long grass at the back of the dog yard.  After taking him and Bluegrass out and feeding and watering all of the critters, I came in and made breakfast.  Girlie Bear is at a sleepover, so she gets doughnuts or whatever it is teenage girls eat when a gang of them first wake up.  By the way, hot dog buns make great french toast sticks.  While engaged in cooking, I put on a pot of coffee.

Boo got up, was served his breakfast of french toast sticks, applesauce, and milk, and proceeded to turn his nose up at it.  Apparently I don’t make it like mama does or something.  I made my own breakfast, fed Irish Woman, and tried to settle in with my cup of coffee to read the digital newspaper.  First distraction was getting up to find the headset that Boo wears when he’s doing his morning therapy exercises.  Once that was found, I returned to my sort-of hot cup of coffee.  Next, I was asked to get up and try to find the bag of plastic baseballs Irish Woman bought for Boo to play with.  After searching the house, I found them in the trunk of her car.

I now sit in my living room, trying to finish a luke-warm cup of coffee and get my head together for what I have to do today.  If I’m luck, I’ll get a second cup of coffee that’s not in a to-go cup before I have to start driving around Louisville on various errands.

By now, given the same circumstances, my father would have thrown a temper tantrum and burned the house to the ground.   I think I prefer my life to his.