It’s one of my favorite movies.  Eddie Murphy, Dan Aykroyd, and the delightful Jamie Lee Curtis.  Financial intrigue, the comic genius of Murphy and Aykroyd, even a gratuitous sex scene (if you don’t watch it on regular TV).  Is there anything better than watching Jamie Lee Curtis in pigtails acting “Svedish” during the New Year’s Eve train scene?

And gorilla sex.  Yea, gorilla sex.

Wow.

However it has a new meaning for me.

My dad and I are almost finished with the process of Trading Places.

I received a call last week from some folks at my dad’s nursing home, asking if I could sit in a meeting they were having about my dad and his ongoing physical and occupational therapy.  It’s been a couple years since I have seen my dad walk, I figured the wheel chair and muscle atrophy put the idea of walking “behind him”, so to speak.

I hadn’t talked to my dad in a week, I kept calling, I kept getting his recorded message.  Dad kinda forgot to charge his phone.

The call came at 3.30 p.m. yesterday, and I spoke with Karen, Stephanie, Julie, Charlene, and a surprise guest star, my dad.  As they began the discussion, I learned that my dad was released from Physical Therapy and was in danger of being released from Occupational Therapy because he was “skipping classes”. They were “narc’ing” on my dad.

OMG… my dad has turned into a juvenile delinquent.  A ruffian.  A kid from the “wrong side of the tracks”… Where did my lovely bride and I go wrong…  HOLD IT.. THAT’S WHAT WE SAY ABOUT OUR KIDS.

So, I took on the role, grudgingly.  “Why are you skipping therapy dad?”  “What other things are more important than you walking again?”  “Are you keeping to your diet (dad has been newly diagnosed with diabetes, so his diet is more restricted)?”  His answers were funny (go figure, he’s my dad), and things were still kind of light.

And then I went nasty.  “Do you want to see all your grand-kids graduate high school and college?” “Do you want to keep waking up every morning?” “Dad, tell me what is more important than you being able to walk, or breath”.  OK, that one shut everyone up.  I think the “ladies” and my dad were shocked into silence.

“Dad, what the hell is more important to you than doing what the therapists ask you to do?”

“Nothing” was his quiet reply.  The room was still quiet.  I was on a roll.

“So, you’ll promise me that you’ll go to therapy when you are scheduled?  Promise me dad.”

“O.K. I promise Marc.”

“Promise your therapists dad, let me hear you say it”

“I promise”

“And dad, the cute little ol’ ladies that you chase around in your wheelchair will still be there when you are done with therapy.” And that was that. Finishing off on a joke, back to laughter.  I am nothing, if not my dad’s son.

We’ve fully turned an uncomfortable corner that started nearly four years ago when I took away his car and told him he could no longer drive safely.  It continued with the process my brother and I went through to get my dad into his first nursing home, and ultimately his “last one”.

It’s not fun.  It’s not easy.  It’s not a job I want anymore, it’s not one I ever wanted.

But he’s my dad, and I see him in my children whenever I look at them.

I love him, and so we will all do what we need to do for as long as he needs us to do it.

Which I hope is long enough to see his youngest granddaughter get married.

Unlike the movie, this ain’t no comedy, and there won’t be a truly happy ending. And that’s ok.