BOYS TO MEN . . .

Appa is alone for ten days. Dum, dum, DUUUMMMMM!!!!

Omma and Gran went to L.A. to visit my aunt and uncle, Omma to golf her brains out in the non-humid sun of the southern Wrong Coast. They left good ol' summer food in the fridge for my dad: a little marinated beef here, a little cabbage and cucumber kimchi there. A couple of packages of ramen noodles in the pantry. Instructions on how to soak the rice for a couple of hours before pressing "cook," and when to put out the empty Poland Spring bottles for the delivery guy. Drawers full of clean boxers, undershirts and socks. A listing of the week's commitments and appointments, including an upcoming weekend full of East Coast links.

But thirty-one years of marriage has done my father in. The man who until he was thirty-five could go head to head with my mom in culinary skills, the man whose taste buds are more acute and accurate than any trained chef, the man who is more organized and responsible than any father or husband out there, is nothing without my mother. The man left the keys to the pharmacy at home this morning, for goodness' sake; they didn't open until 11:00 a.m., by which time Appa had driven back and forth to the store twice. Doi.

So tonight, as a combo exercise-taking-care-of-dad routine, I headed back to my parents' house. I phrased it as "Appa, I want to have dinner with you;" it was really "Appa, I need to keep an eye on you."

I put the rice on. Threw the laundry in to wash. I set out the spicy pork to defrost. I changed the water in the tofu container and took out the two lumps I'd use for dinner. I replaced the empty Poland Spring water bottle. I made my parents' bed. I sorted the mail. I laughed at the spew of socks spilling out of a half-open sock drawer. I cleaned out the moldy vegetable drawer in the fridge. I soaked more rice for tomorrow night's meal. I discovered a discarded BedBath&Beyond coupon in the garbage. Men! They don't know what's valuable! I rescued it and stashed it in my bag. Then I changed and ran a couple of miles on the treadmill.

By the time Appa came home, the house smelled delicious, dinner was on the table, the clothes dryer was humming along, and he was so happy. We had a conversation about old friends he had run into, the fact that one of the KCW pastors had married a near-juvenile, Appa's forgetfulness this morning, and sigh -- even golf. We shot the breeze, and Appa even helped clean up!

Right after dinner, Appa called Omma in L.A. God knows the two of them can't stand to be apart -- I don't know what she was thinking going off and leaving him for ten days alone! Appa went downstairs and perched on the last step of the staircase whispering Lord-knows-what to my mother. As I stood at the top of the stairs and attempted to eavesdrop, Appa turned around and waved me away. "This is private!" he hissed, much like a teenager speaking to his crush. Cute. Not cute were the two discarded socks lying on the bottom-most stair. As I scrunched my nose at them, Appa caught my eye. "Don't move them! I just took them off and I'm going to take them upstairs when I come up! Don't move them!" Don't worry, dad. Consider them totally untouched. (I fully expect them to still be there when I make my next drop-by.)

A cold glass of water by my dad's bedside. A note reminding him to take his morning medicine and to not forget the pharmacy keys this time. A quick hug and reception of a kick in my butt, and I was out.

Mission accomplished. Appa is saved from utter bachelorhood for one night, and tonight, at least, he didn't have to have ramen for dinner.