Lotto Tickets

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Every Saturday, I took my Dad and his caregiver, Angelo, for our weekly ride.  As Dad got older this field trip became a production and we did our best to make it happen.  Getting Dad suited up in his “windbreaker,” his cap and gloves, double socks and walking shoes, it took forever.  At 100 years of age he used large, white cotton handkerchiefs, never a tissue. Not exactly the most hygienic for us, but we carried on.

He used a walker and we would leave the tray behind. At his age, he insisted on carrying his wallet and often his little flip cell phone, he wanted to be prepared for any emergency when we went out.  

We didn’t go far, our route rarely deviated.  First, we drove to the cemetery, one mile away, where my Mother was buried.  Every weekend rain or shine, we went to the cemetery. Dad stayed in the car, he was unable to walk over the bumpy grass or navigate around gravestones, but he watched.

I put fresh flowers or seasonal ornaments around Mom’s grave.  For major holidays, I went all out and attached flowers, or Easter eggs or Christmas ornaments to metal flower rods I bought on Amazon.  We put out wreaths and pumpkins and American flags. It was a tradition and we stuck to it.

Then we drove another mile to cruise around the parking lot at the place he worked at for 70 years.  If the locker room man, Pat, was there, and answered his phone, he would come out and talk to Dad. Angelo and I kept a respectful silence while the two men, one younger and one very old, discussed the state of the golf course, who had shown up and what the gossip was going around the clubhouse. 

After the club, we cruised back a few miles in the direction of the gas station where I bought gas and the ubiquitous Lotto tickets.  Even when Dad’s memory was getting spotty, he would always remember the Lotto tickets. We never won much, one week we won 38 dollars and we were excited.  I always bought a few tickets for Angelo, he needed cash. Dad and I were both retired, and could have used more money, too. Who couldn’t?

After the Lotto, sometimes we got chicken nuggets from the McDonalds, and a stop at my friend Maureen’s to say hi.  Sometimes we needed to pick up his meds at the Walgreens, but he didn’t use many, mostly ointments for his sensitive skin that erupted into a rash under his belly.  Cough drops, eye drops, and rubber gloves for the caregivers, we always had those items on hand.

Once in a while we stopped at Binny’s to buy beer and an occasional bottle of whiskey for when our Irish friend Joe stopped by to visit Pop.  He came four times a week, and it was often the highlight of Dad’s day. Joe was the son Dad never had.

So, Dad and Angelo sat in the car and watched me dash in and out.  This was our routine, our flight path, our Saturday life. I chauffeured for five years; we had a lot of laughs and cries in that old VW of mine.  I miss those rides.