Seventy-Four and Eleven and a Half Twelfths

Talked to Dad for a few minutes today. He was on his way to give clothes to a homeless man who’s about his size. Dad’s favorite clothing item has, for years, been his flannel-lined khakis. He wears them every day in the winter, but he heard about this person’s need and decided that three pairs are enough. He doesn’t need four.  Awwww… Have I mentioned that I love this man?

Anyway, I was talking to Mom and Dad on speaker-phone. Somewhere in the course of the conversation, he said something about my age (28), and I asked him how old he was. “Seventy-four and a half,” he said.

“You’re older than that,” I responded.

“Okay, seventy-four and eleven and a half twelfths,” said he, the former math teacher.

“That makes you awful close to a birthday, old man,” I said.

So I went on to ask him what he wanted for his birthday.

It was perfect.  It was so, so perfect.

He asked for a card.

 My fabulous mother was right there and I’m so impressed with her for not busting a gut. “I don’t want anything, Sarah, really,” he said. “I don’t want you to spend anything on me. I have everything I need. I just want a card. And I don’t want a card that has to do with lack of hair.”

So there you have it--- he just wants a card and he doesn’t want it to have to do with lack of hair. No bald jokes for the old man, please.