Pater noster

My Da is now in Rehab. (Stroke rehab, that is, not the Amy Wineh.ouse type. It's an ancient institution that used to glory in the inspiring name Hospital for the Incurables.
They didn't really go in for PR in the old days, did they?).
He's in good form. He seems really excited by the visible progress he is making. He is eating - scrambled eggs and porridge - (funnily enough, everything on his most hated list). He went to see the match in a nearby hotel yesterday too, and walking on his frame. Slowly his life is expanding beyond hospital wards.
Isn't it ironic, (doncha think), the way that by the time you get old enough to take your parents to task for making life difficult when you were a child, they've turned into someone else. My Da is now a sweet old man, who looks at you pleadingly with green eyes and likes to laugh at his own silliness. Formerly Angry Da is gone and I feel much closer to him.
He roars with laughter at the incident the other night where he became fixated with getting out of the place and, very logically, (it seemed to him), tried to get out of bed. Not surprisingly, the Escape Plan failed, he fell and the nurses had to come and pick him up.
(Turned out the sleeping pill they gave him can have give you nightmares. Huh, thanks for that, Staff. Considering he never even consented to taking it.)
I was wondering aloud if there was a pool for the patients in the place. Not for Da, interjected Brother, and we laugh. Poor Da was never too hot at swimming, even at the best of times. On one memorable occasion, he nearly drowned while trying to traverse a 6 foot stretch of water. Diane! he said. (Brother likes to act this out), I'm not going to make it! Blub, blub!
I don't know why we find this so funny. But we do.
I must gather myself to go and see the old feller now.
Your daughterly
Twangy