Sunday Afternoon: Dad And Indiana Jones

I was walking with my father down the long corridor that leads to his apartment (he insists on independent living) when he stopped and turned to look at me with a wry smile. The thing about dad is that he has a consistent cruising speed. Once he gets his walker going he doesn’t speed up or slow down, he just moves along at his slow, 90-year-old pace.

I’d take a few steps and linger, looking at the same framed landscape prints on the wall that I’ve seen many times before, waiting for dad to catch up and make small talk as he moved on. That day he moved a little slower than usual. We’d been out for a few hours and the heat of the day had gotten to him.  He had passed on an invitation to lunch at a taco place and asked to be taken home.

So half-way down the hall he stopped, turned to me, smiled and said, “Ya mero llegamos” – we’re almost there.

You’d need to know dad to understand the moment. He’s a quiet man, but he doesn’t need to say much because has the ability to pack a wallop with a few words – he can make you laugh or dress you down with a turn of a phrase. His comment to me was a little of both. I laughed, and slowed down.

He was exactly where he needed to be, doing exactly what needed to be done – half-way down the hall on his way home. I can’t tell you exactly where I was. My thoughts tend to take-off in widening spirals, so wherever my thoughts were when we entered the hall, they were light-years away when he brought me back with that smile and raised eye-brow.

This has been a long, tough summer. It doesn’t help that the sun has been scorching and relentless. So when he brought me to his speed – walker cruise – I smiled back at him and felt a sense of relief.

“Estaba fuerte el sol, ” he said – the sun was strong.

“Sí, nomas los locos y las lagartijas andan afuera,” I said – only lizards and crazy people are out right now. It was my turn to make him laugh. He used to say that when I was a kid, and I think he thought I had forgotten. He laughed, but he didn’t break his stride; getting up to speed isn’t easy.

He keeps his place on the warm side because he’s easily chilled.  “Que fresco se siente,” he said – it feels cool –  when he backed into his easy chair. I grabbed a nearby newspaper and fanned myself.

We spent the next 30 minutes or so watching the end of “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.” It’s what was showing when he turned the TV on.

It’s a frenetic ending: the race de rigueur through an ancient temple with all manner of treachery and and villains, water rushing through the halls and the narrow escape through a mine riding small rail-cars at breakneck speed. Then, once out, the stand off on a rickety bridge that spans an incredible gorge and the last minute decision to cut the sustaining cables that sends the villains to their deserved doom.

I was tired when it was over and I hadn’t moved from my chair.

Dad was smiling again. He took a sip of orange soda, looked over at me, raised an eyebrow and said, “y nunca se le cayó el sombrero,” –  he never lost his hat.

Follow Victor Landa on Twitter: @vlanda