The world didn't end. There wasn't even any blood shed.
We survived Dad's birthday party with all the kids. I didn't do so well the night before, but I managed to behave during the party. And, all of the putzes showed up.
Saturday night, Rachel, Cassie, and I took Dad out for ice cream over in West Portal. As we arrived, a moron waiting to pick his kids up from the movies pulled in to the crip zone across the street from the Double Rainbow shop right in front of me. So I yelled at him, chastising him, but I don't think it did any good, except to get him to move.
Afterwards, when we left, there was a bunch of young college-age (or possibly high-school) kids hanging around, with their truck parked in the area next to the crip zone -- the area we needed to manouver Dad's wheelchair to get him into the car. So I went off on them immediately.
I think it was partly the stress of the impending family reunion that caused me to be so overly antogonistic right from the git-go. It doesn't matter, though. Both instances were thoroughly inappropriate actions on my part, given the fact that it was Dad's birthday and that we had Cassie with us (she was completely freaked by the experience.)
I apologized to Dad, and explained to him (and Cassie) that I wasn't really as mad as I had seemed, but that I was just trying to get the attention of the mean people who had blocked our way. Still, it didn't make it right.
I have a habit of doing things like that, without considering the effect on those around me. Which, of course, makes me no better than those who block or misuse handicapped parking spaces. From now on, however, I have resolved to refrain from such actions, especially when accompanied by others.
In any case, with that out of my system, the following day went fairly smoothly. Rachel, Cassie, John, Gemma, and I all arrived at the same time -- a minute or two after 2:00pm. We walked into the Jewish Home and had just gotten past the lobby when Stanley (the MegaPutz) came strolling down the hall toward us.
He passed me with nary a word, but with a look on his face that was either one of complete surprise or utter fear. Or perhaps a total lack of recognition. I don't know what showed on my face, but I doubt it was completely neutral. He said hello to John and Gemma and Cassie, and I think Rachel, and walked back to the dining room where the party was with us.
When John asked him how he was doing, he said "well, really well", or words to that effect. Even with his student loans and the payments on the Jeep he totalled (without insurance, of course), at $85K/year (he actually showed his paystub to Craig once to prove it), he should be doing pretty damn well. Common (or not-so-common, in my family) courtesy would dictate, however, that he shouldn't brag about it.
In the dining room, we ran into Marnie (one of the staff) who directed us to Dad's table. Unfortunately, Dad wasn't there (nor were any of the other putzes.) Marnie asked if she should call to have him brought down, or if I wanted to go get him, and we decided to have someone bring him down. Well, by the time they were through singing Happy Birthday, I was getting worried (and a little ticked off), so I went looking for him.
I figured I would run into him in the hall outside the dining room, but by the time I got to the bird cage, I was nearly running. I got to the third floor and stepped out of the elevator to see Paul (The ElderPutz), Barbara (The Happy Homemaker), and Rita (The Witch) standing there with Dad. They had apparently been having their own little private party, instead of bringing him to the big celebration.
Mind you, I have no problem with them having a private party with Dad; in fact, I'm all in favor of it. But not when he should be enjoying a party with the rest of his family and the other residents. By not bringing him down, they selfishly made him miss Cassie singing Happy Birthday and nearly made him miss having a piece of cake. But then, selfishness is certainly nothing new to the putzes.
It was nearly twenty to three by the time Dad got to the dining room. We all sat down, and proceeded to chat. Sort of. Paul asked whose kid Jake was (even though he was sitting next to John and Gemma, was nowhere near me, and they presumably new Stanley's parental status.
Paul also grilled me, trying to sound like he was being the better man for striking up a conversation, despite my obvious lack of enthusiasm (hostility?). He asked me something, then asked if he could ask another question, as if he was trying not to get me upset. He enjoys that role -- the holier-than-thou, I'm-above-such-childish-games, martyr. In actuality, I simply had no interest in anything he might have to say (or at least, nothing it would not be rude or childish to ask) and he was the one playing games.
Given my well-known dislike for Ford, he naturally had to ask how I felt now that Ford had bought Land Rover. I told him simply that my vehicle is 40 years old, so nothing the company did now had any real effect on me. He also asked if I was still working with Longs; I suspect he was hoping I would ask what he was doing. He followed that up with asking if I had written any books lately; perhaps he has, and wanted to brag about it?
I didn't hear much of the other conversation, but I'm told Rita was putting out mean and snide remarks left, right and center. I took some pictures, and Paul asked if I woul be willing to take a picture with them and Dad. I agreed, and we all squatted around him for the photo.
After what was left of the party, we went and sat outside by the Cafe. Dad was a little cold, so he asked me to get his jacket. I said I had a better idea, and gave him Rachel and my present to open. He said okay, but could I get his jacket? I said open it, and he'd be okay. So he opened it, and of course it was the Jacket we had bought him. His old fleece jacket was getting kind of, well, old, so we picked up a nice new one from REI for him. I helped him put it on, and he really liked it.
This prompted the putzes to pull out their presents. Rita gave him a baseball cap from Golden Gate Park stables where she works. She told him she was glad she didn't get him the matching jacket, because of our present. She had also previously given him a photo of him with her in one of those laser-cut wooden frames that say Dad all over it.
Cassie gave him a drawing she had made, and a couple of dollars for playing blackjack. It wasn't much, but it was very cute. Diane, Rachel's mom, had sent along a present, which turned out to be a 49'ers cap. Dad promptly replaced the stables cap with the 49'ers one. At one point, during the opening of presents, I used my WengerGrip to cut off a tag, and so Paul and Stanley began bragging about their Leathermen and other such tools. It didn't phase me; I don't carry a large tool to look cool -- I use it.
We hung out for a while, staying in the background, letting Dad enjoy the company of his children. I got pissed when they started talking about the movies they had seen or wanted to see (Chicken Run: "Yeah, I want to see that; I saw a preview when I went to Mission Impossible 2" -- paraphrase of what Stanley said). They were yakking amongst themselves, treating dad like a cat on a couch, or perhaps someone in a coma that they were obligated to visit, but who couldn't actually hear or see them. None of them even brought up the idea of taking Dad to see a movie. (The last movie I saw was Fantasia 2000 -- with Dad.)
Anyway, it was getting cool, so they adjourned to Dad's room, at which point, Rachel and Cassie and I left. We wanted to let Dad get as much time with the putzes since he never gets to see them. Stanley didn't even know where Dad's room was, having never visited before. The others had at least been there once or twice.
Rachel was proud of the way I acted -- or didn't act, actually. All in all, it went reasonably well. Hopefully, this won't be the last time he sees them until his next birthday. No blood was shed, other than in my imagination. No one was hurt, except in my mind. No one died violently by having the pointy end of an oversized crowbar swung at, and into, the side of their empty skull.
Most importantly, Dad enjoyed it.