God, my parents are old (and foreign. TLDR)

I love them more than anything in the world, but they are visiting for the weekend, are in their late 50s/early 60s (but act much, much older) and foreigners to boot, so there is even more of that old-people confusedness . . .

We went on a trip to Charleston, and decided to go to the visitor’s center. The parking lot said “full,” but my dad insisted that, “just because the sign says that doesn’t mean it’s really full; I’ve seen it at the Atlanta airport” blah blah blah. So, he tries to go in and of course he can’t get a ticket and the bar doesn’t raise, as the lot is CLEARLY full. Of course, the solution to this problem is to press the “take ticket” button several more times. After that’s unsuccessful, he decides to go and talk to the attendant, and then comes back muttering about how they don’t speak good English and he can’t understand her, blahblahblah. Now there is a line of cars building up behind ours . . . long, terribly embarrassing story short, we eventually get in, only after pissing people off. And my dad does not see how he’s done anything wrong or inefficient.

So then, as we’re leaving, we need to get gas. I try to pump but my mom insists on pumping. I wasn’t watching but somehow she gets $.30 worth of gas before it stops pumping. Then she reinserts her card, and after she types in her zip code, the card is rejected (probably because the last time she used it she was about 500 miles south and the credit card company considers that “suspicious activity.”) Of course, the logical thing at this point is to re-try the card, and when it still doesn’t work, to try hitting buttons and non-buttons on the gas pump. Then my dad notices nothing is happening, and he comes out and insists that he try to run the card, cause of course we’re all artards who can’t work a gas pump except him. Finally, the attendant comes out and tells my mom to go ahead and pump and pay inside.

And just now my dad was muttering about how this nation is going to hell in a handbasket because the kids don’t know proper grammar cause the school’s don’t teach it and why the hell does Obama think that raising taxes will help the economy and we only have the stupid youngsters who voted for him to blame for the state this country is in and blah blah blah. All while his shorts are up to his nipples.

And last night my mom was complaining that 4 dollars was waaaay to big a tip a give to the pizza delivery guy. She hates tipping.

There were many more such situations. You know, I love them and I dread the day they are gone. But they really act way older than they are. They’re so confused by everything, all the time. They take so long to absorb new information and adapt to new situations. And they are well -freaking-educated and very high income and such!

Gah. Thanks for letting me get this off my chest.

In my mother’s and grandmother’s name, thank you: you made them look good. I do hope you can survive the visit in good terms and better health (I dread theirs).

This is my favorite part.

And I feel your pain. My folks aren’t immigrants, but I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve tried to explain time zones to my mother. Every time we talk, she asks me what time it is in Japan. Yeah, I know it’s a bit odd to think of things here happening half a day before they happen there, but is it really that hard? The latest one was when I told her I was flying home, leaving on a Friday night and getting in at essentially the same time my flight leaves (I think this is pretty cool, but not confusing in the least). She emailed me again to ask if I were sure that I could meet them on Friday night, because doesn’t the airplane take a long time to fly to America?

Sigh. At least she understands email. Mostly.

And my dad just pulled the towel hook off my bathroom door. You see, the bathroom door sticks a little. So he grabs on to the towel hook to try and open the door, for leverage. This causes the towel hook to come off. Then he insists that he can replace it himself, but I tell him that I can take care of it later (which I can, and it’ll just be easier than him doing it). The following dialogue ensues.

Him: (trying to deflect blame off himself) Why don’t you tell the apartment people that the door sticks?
Me: I’ve never had much of a problem with it.
Him: You don’t think it sticks???
Me: I just put both hands on the knob and pull and it opens easily
Him: No, it doesn’t.

Lord, give me the grace to accept the things I cannot change, the strength to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Ha! My mom asked me every single day this visit, “where’s the cereal?” I didn’t have cereal the first day mom, I asked you what you wanted and you didn’t mention cereal. Did you expect it to materialize?

I would have said because or 'cause. Stupid liberal schools! :mad: :stuck_out_tongue:

My dad used ‘high tech’ systems in his day; radar, communications systems, etc. He was a pilot and flight instructor who often filed IFR, so he was good at putting abstract information into practice. (I remember one time where it amazed me he could put his plane through a cloud deck with rocks sticking out of it all over the place and break out with the runway in sight.) He could build just about anything he put his mind to. He had great senses of humour and adventure, and valued logic and learning. He died in 1998, three years after a traumatic brain injury; so he never had the chance to play with home computers or the Internet.

But he couldn’t get his head around prices. He remembered when you could buy an awesome new car for two- or three thousand dollars, and was shocked at how much new cars cost in the '90s. Everything was ‘spendy’. Never mind that his income was much higher than it had been when he was young, and that the cost of things compared to his income was similar to the cost of things compared to his income decades before. He’d just see the numbers and remember when you could buy six gallons of gas for a dollar, or a loaf of bread for a dime.

My dad tucks the bottom of his pants into his socks whenever he’s going out anywhere which might remotely have long grass. I walk as far behind as possible, cringing quietly.

Wait, you gave the pizza guy a $4 tip? That’s way too big a tip.

For two pizzas. And the pizzas were effectively free, with a gift card and a coupon. So, total we paid 8 dollars for two large speciality pizzas.

People get old and cranky and out of touch. This will happen to you as well. Instead of rolling your eyes, remember all the things they’ve experienced that you can scarcely comprehend, and realize that as you get older, living your life on your own terms is a privilege. Look forward to getting old and cranky, and being an unbearable burden on your progeny. It’s a perk.

Am I whooshed here? I must be, because $4 seems like a perfectly normal tip to have somebody drive to my house and hand me food.

Ha Ha yea old folks are like that and,
HEY!! I’m in my late 50s
damn youngsters with your hip huggies and new fangled contraptions

and get off my lawn
:slight_smile:

There’s a line of cars also trying to get into a lot that is clearly full? Unless I’m misunderstanding something, I don’t see what’s to be embarrassed about or why people would be pissed of at your father’s actions.

My father is 77 and I think I figured out the high pants thing. The problem is that people really do get shorter as they get older (I think he lost at least two inches) but he’s still wearing the same pants. So they tend to ride high.

WAG: His dad’s vehicle was blocking the sign.

Sigh. My mother’s 98 and tells us the same story over and over. And doesn’t remember a thing I tell her. We got her one of those “button-round-the-neck-to-call-the-ambulance” things, but she will NOT use it. She locked herself out of the house when it was zero outside for two hours, and didn’t feel the need to call. Aarrrgh.

I know, I know. And to some extent, I agree. But the thing is, they are not that old. My dad turned 60 this year and my mom is 56 (she is definitely the more “with-it” of the two of them), but they seem like they’re 80 sometimes . . .

My dad tries to bond with me over subjects he acknowledges I know something about. It’s always an interesting experience.

Computers? My five years of tech support apparently means that I can create a computer that will pass a Turing test. Dad’s question? “So, what are they using now that’s the equivalent of punch cards?”

English vocabulary, grammar, and usage? Yeah, I’m up on those, but I’m not on the staff of the OED, like Dad seems to think. “So, why do people use ‘were’ in a sentence with a singular subject?”. It’s called subjunctive mood, Dad. It’s used to imply an impossible condition (if I were king . . . ). “That makes no sense.” Sorry, Dad, no one put me in charge of the language. “Well, why doesn’t it make sense?”. Fifteen minutes and an explanation of the evolution of language later, I give up and say, because they are bad and wrong, and it’s grammatically incorrect to say "if I were king . . . ".

The television? I’m the television expert? Sure, maybe in whatever universe hydrogen molecules vibrate to the frequency of a Queen song, but not here. Yet, I’m still called downstairs twice a week to “fix” the tv because it’s “broken”. It’s not broken. Dad’s just been mashing on the buttons and managed to switch the input from tuner to line, which means the tv gets no input. Every time I hit a succession of seven buttons to select tv settings, choose input, reset it to tuner, and hit enter, it’s like I’m the first homo erectus to strike flint and get fire in front of the tribal elders. I think he’s convinced the spirits which live in the tv will not respond to his supplications but only to those of his fertile, virgin daughter. (Another subject on which I am NOT correcting him.)

Well, parking in Charleston is really a bitch and a half. Half the time you have to just hope you don’t get a ticket.

I usually give $2.