The long weekend with the stepfather-in-law was not as bad as I expected. He ranted about the Mexicans and the blacks for only a little bit, and he spent most of his time talking about his ailments and his work as a full time World War 2 veteran. I kid you not when I say that as he has aged, his three years or so in the slave army back in the Eurpopean theatre have assumed primary importance in his life story. Nothing he did before or since matters near as much as his period of involuntary servitude. His life centers around the VA, the VFW and the American Legion.
This doesn't annoy me any longer, and I like to bust his chops, as Yankees say, by asking about what size cannon balls they used in the artillery back then, about who took care of the horses, and about whether the Germans put up any resistance on D-Day. I pretend that I am under the mistaken impression that he served in the Italian Army. It's good fun and helps pass the time. I used to tell him that I was a Communist and would spout all kinds of Marxist slogans at the dinner table and call him Comrade, but he caught on that I was just fooling around with him.
Anyway, the old guy has grown on me. I wonder, though, why he doesn't get a scooter so he can do more things despite his impaired mobility. I've known quite afew folks who won't take the plunge and get a scooter. Instead, they sit around and complain about how they wish they had some mobility. I don't get it. I sometimes think about getting a scooter just because I'm lazy.