We Meet in Tucson Where We End Up Living

And this leads us to: Dadzilla Takes Tucson...

So, we agree to move to Tucson. He was in Minnesota by this time, which is where he grew up and some family still is. I was in St. Petersburg, FL, spinning my wheels in the sand, not having any momentum, nor any direction. The reason I chose Tucson was because Dad had lived in and around Phoenix before and he liked it there. I thought he'd like a smaller city in Arizona a bit better.

Oh, he'd go metal detecting, and maybe pan a little for gold, maybe even go fishing if there was some sort of lake fed by a spring someplace. Those were pipe dreams...for both of us.

First week here after we met up at a long-term rental motel, a couple guys broke into his van and stole some of his stuff. Of course, it was the “goddamn, bungling police” who couldn't do their jobs and find the thieves. And, naturally, the thieves were believed to be Mexican, since someone had seen part of the event unfold. More Archie Bunkeresque comments about putting up a fence along the border and giving no more warnings, just start shooting. No, “Deputy Dawg” never did find any of his things. But the Sheriff, Governor, and Senators did get something from Dadzilla. That came in the form of many-paged letters written by his hand with accusations and all. Though, I'm not quite clear if he included any of his favorite epithets. Oh, no, he wouldn't be surprised if they threw him in prison. I pointed out that they would just take it as the mad rantings of an aged man, since he didn't actually threaten anyone. I figured, even if he did, he'd be safe; the political fallout for throwing a disabled, elderly man in prison would probably be too great for anyone to pull off. Believe you me, I still get to listen to this tale every now and then.

Almost two months later, in August, we finally find a place that seems acceptable. What a treat it was having him riding in my passenger seat. “Goddamn light! They need to fix these damn lights here in Tucson. Red, red, red! C'mon!” “Look at that! Putzing along, putzing along! Figures! It's a woman! Wanting everyone to cater to her!”

We're almost to the new place after what seems like hours. Negative comments about this, that, and the other. John and Joan are the landlords, and they seem like decent people. We get our keys and, after much ado, move in. Neither one of us should be moving heavy things, but at least my back trouble isn't life threatening. Dadzilla uses a cane for a reason, but foregoes its usage moving our things. Other than fighting because he constantly barks orders at me, it goes without a hitch, which is a surprise in and of itself.

<How Do I Survive Living With Elderly Father?>      <continued in future post>