It's Always Groundhog Day

One of the constants about living with Dad is what my sister and I call 'Groundhog Day'. For days on end you can count on having the same conversation over and over again. This week's Groundhog Day conversation is about money. I come into the hospital room and he says, "I haven't had aaannnnyyy money for dddaaaayyysss now." "That's right. You can't have any money. You're in the hospital and they don't allow you to have money here. They even ask that you send your money home with a family member." "No money? Why not?" "Because you don't need money when you're in the hospital. It might be a temptation to someone." "Well, what if I want to go buy some oranges at the store?" "You're not going to the store. You're in the hospital." "But I would like to have some oranges." "Then you can ask the kitchen to send some oranges." "Well, I would like to..." (he gestures reaching out his hand and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together) "give a little tip to people." "Hmmmm, Dad, these are professionals. And you don't tip professionals." The next day. Same conversation. And the following day. And the day after that.