Held Hostage

It must have been Lock Up the Good Guys Day on the Westerns Channel. 


Each time I looked in on Dad, another of our heroes was being held against his will.  On Have Gun Will Travel, the protagonist was being held behind bars, falsely accused of murder.  On Law Man, the marshal and his deputy happened upon a hostage situation and became hostages themselves.  On Wagon Train, the wagon master was among a group of men on the train who, one by one, disappeared into the snowy forest, victims of a scheme to sell human beings as slaves to a hostile Indian tribe.


Not a good day for the men in white.


Call it what you will.  Coincidence.  Self-fulfilling prophecy.  Poetic justice.  Maybe it's like the scary movie thing with little kids.  Ya know, the monster's under the bed thing, only it's the 84 year old man that won't go to bed.  If they can be held against their will on TV, it could happen to me too.  Whatever the reason, the hostage scenario carried over into our real life that day, at least the real life drama that goes on in my father-in-law's mind.


By the time Dad had finished his dinner he was convinced he was being held in this place against his will.  Not unheard of, but this was an unusually difficult case.


I wish it were possible to convince Dad once and for all that this is his home.  After all, his apartment was designed and built just for his needs.  But most days, we settle for convincing him that it's simply not time to go home.  He usually responds with patience.  He is, by nature, a very gracious man.  That helps.  It also helps that he has a very short attention span.  Something he considers a major crisis now isn't even on the radar screen in five minutes.  Often a simple, 'Let's wait and see!' is the best approach.


Donna, a neighbor and friend who visits Pop regularly, had tried a more honest approach earlier on Lock Up the Good Guys Day.  Dad had been relentlessly trying to stand.


Donna exhorted him, "Stay put, Pop. Where are you going?"


"I've got to get ready to go," he replied.  They'll be here for me any minute."


She gently assured him that he was safe at home.


"See the clock and the TV Patrick got?  And look there is your Jesus picture," she encouraged. "These are all your things, in your home.  You are already home, Pop!"


He settled in his recliner, scanned her face and then each of the objects she had named.  He sighed as if suddenly realizing he was indeed the one who was confused.


"Yes, I know," he stammered.  He thought for a moment but then, clamoring back to his feet, he blurted, "But I can't walk over there so I'll have to be ready when they come for me."


It was that kind of day and the beat went on through dinner into early evening.  My goal was to get Pop into bed and then settle down myself for some time with my wife and daughter.  Yet, there was Dad, relentlessly insisting on being permitted to go home.  I used all the tricks I knew.


I was beginning to feel like I was the hostage.  I finally resorted to the strong arm tactics.  I finished my final argument on a stern note.


"This is your home!  We are going to get you ready for bed!  Okay?"


He looked squarely in my eyes, testing my resolve.  He knew I was in earnest.  His spirit broke, his aged eyes flooded with tears.  He said, "Okay."


"You know Dad," I said, "It's not that late. Do you want to go to my place and see what's going on there?"


His face brightened.  He recovered his manly resolve and he replied, "Do they have cake?"


I loaded Dad in the wheel chair instead of the bed and headed for 'my place' on the other side of the wall that separates his bedroom from our living room.  Everyone was happy he had come.  He watched.  He talked.  He laughed.  He ate cake.


After about an hour, he was partied out.  We went back to his room and got him ready for bed.  He went to sleep a free man, happy to be home again with the family he loved.


Funny! That's exactly how it ended on TV.