July 18: BBQ

I took Dad to the New Alternatives BBQ in Prospect Park today. He had been looking forward to it every time it was mentioned during the week and setting out, he was enthusiastic,“it’s good to get out.” In the cab on our way to Brooklyn, Dad asked his usual million questions, and did some singing. When we arrived, Kate S. already had the folding camp chair we bought in Gloucester set up for him, and one of my clients, Robin, was doting on him, bringing him soda and cookies. He ate a hotdog, and cheerfully greeted all the youth who came up to him, though he had no idea who they were.

After a couple of hours, though, came the moment I’d been dreading: the trip to the bathroom. Although JD had assured me that the bathroom wasn’t far, it was a huge trek by Dad standards. At first I tried to send him with Russell, his friend from Pride, but when Russell honestly told him how far away it was, he insisted on coming back. After a while, he decided to try again, so one of the youth, Bradley, and I each took a hand, towing him across the lawn. Trying to distract him from the walk, I was narrating the scenery – children feeding ducks, people boating. Dad said, “You’re going to throw me in that lake!” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Bradley went into the men’s room with him, and says that, after peeing, Dad washed his hands in the water from the urinal! Then came the return trip. “Are we in World War 1?” Dad asked, apparently thinking we were on some kind of forced march. By the time our group came into view, Dad was out of steam. He kept saying he had to stop, but would then push on for a while longer. Finally, Bradley ran ahead and moved Dad’s chair closer, and we settled right where we were, even though it was an area with no shade.

Once Dad was rested up, he was ready to go home. There was some difficulty getting a car back, and Dad asked me when we were going so many times that I was getting frazzled. On the way back, the driver helped Dad into the front seat, where he began his usual litany of questions. The driver, an Indian man with a thick accent, apparently didn’t realize that Dad was kind of kooky and kept dutifully answering the questions, even though his accent was so thick that I’m sure Dad didn’t understand him at all. It was kind of like watching a comedy skit from my vantage point in the backseat.

When we got home, Dad was confused. “It was the same day, right?” he asked. “We went on a BBQ with 50 people? When we got home, finally, it was daylight?” “Yeah, it was daylight when we left and daylight when we came back,” I explained. “How long were we gone altogether?” he wanted to know. “We left at 1pm and came back at 7:30pm, so six and a half hours,” I answered. “Finally we got an airport – airline?” he asked. “No, we took a car.” I clarified. “Where did we leave it off?” “In front of your building.” “Now what are you going to do?” “Hang out with you until you go to bed.” I answered. The questions continued on and on. Finally, Dad was concluded the inquiry, “Muy complicado,” he said, switching into Spanish.

I know that getting out in the fresh air and getting some exercise is good for Dad, but bringing him places is such an exhausting and stressful undertaking, and it leaves him so confused that it’s hard to get up the motivation to do it.