12/07/2025
A Day in the Life… Told From the Husband’s Perspective
Let me tell you about my day taking Dad (my father-in-law) and the grandbabies out for his birthday and for holiday pics.
It started out innocent. Too innocent. That should’ve been my warning.
Dad was in full kid mode—sat by Santa, told him exactly what he wanted, took his candy cane with the same enthusiasm as the toddlers. It was actually adorable. The grandbabies were loving it, my wife was glowing, and I thought:
“Maybe—just maybe—we’ll get through an outing without chaos.”
That was my first mistake.
We finish lunch at Local restaurant —because BBQ is the man’s personal love story—he was hungry! I wonder if my mother-in-law feeds him 😜. He’s full and we’re heading out the door. My wife suddenly asks, “Dad, where’s your cane?”
He says, “I don’t have it.”
Of course he doesn’t.
She tells me to go look for it, and in all the confusion, he follows me back inside. And before I can redirect him or even breathe, he announces—loud enough for the next ZIP code:
“SOMEBODY STOLE MY GOTDAMN CANE!”
And there it is.
My soul leaves my body.
The entire restaurant freezes. Forks stop mid-air. People stop chewing. Conversations die. Suddenly we’ve got strangers standing up, peeking under tables, checking corners—as if a cane thief is hiding in the shadows.
Meanwhile, I’m walking around hunched over like a turtle hoping no one recognizes me, whispering, “Dad… Dad… please… please don’t do this right now…”
Outside—where my brain apparently forgot to function—my wife and granddaughter are freezing in the snow because I forgot to unlock the car doors in the middle of the chaos.
So while I’m inside trying to avoid being named in a Yelp review, they’re outside living in the opening scene of Frozen.
Then finally—I see it.
THE CANE.
The infamous, “stolen,” “gotdamn” cane.
Sitting peacefully…
On the exact chair Dad was sitting in.
I grab it, thank the entire restaurant like we just completed a search-and-rescue mission, and head out—only to be met with my wife giving me the exact look I deserve…
At that point, I was ready to gently strangle someone (her and her dad) —anyone—just to restore my sanity.
To everyone at the BBQ restaurant: thank you for participating in the Great Cane Hunt of 2025.
Your service was appreciated.
Your food was good.
Your trauma will fade.
And as for Dad?
We are officially putting a retractable leash on his cane—just like a keychain—so the next time he “loses” it, it will snap back like Spider-Man’s web.
Because at this stage of life, we’re not just caregivers…
We’re equipment managers.
Love you dad and thank you for blessing me with my beautiful wife.
