This Father’s Day, I’d like to honor my dad’s memory by sharing a story about him.
Recently, I was seated at a fundraising dinner beside a woman named Debbie. During our conversation, she mentioned that she works as a pharmacist, but not behind the counter at a drugstore. Debbie visits nursing homes and reads the charts to make sure no medications are duplicated and that the dosages are correct.
I had never heard of a pharmacist doing that and I was curious, so the interviewer in me emerged. “Do the nursing homes pay you?”
“Yes, there’s a law that requires them to have their charts checked by a pharmacist.”
“Do you interact with the residents?”
“I see them, but I don’t really have that much contact with them,” Debbie said, and then she asked me a question. “Do you know much about nursing homes?”
I’ve visited people, including my dad, in nursing homes. “A little bit.”
“I was just wondering, because you called them residents. That’s what we’re told to call them.”
She was wondering why I used a term for insiders when I didn’t even work in the field. “Well, as I was forming the question, I figured residents would sound more respectful than patients.”
“That’s interesting,” Debbie said, looking at me in amazement.
“That reminds me of a funny story,” I said. “My dad lived in an apartment building for seniors and one day when I was talking to him on the phone, I heard a dog barking in the background. I asked him if they allowed dogs there and he said, ‘No, someone visiting one of the inmates brought a dog.’
“I thought it was hilarious that he said inmates instead of residents, but he was always saying funny things like that.”
Debbie laughed. “Well, sometimes they probably feel like inmates.”
It made me happy that my dad’s humor could still make people laugh.