twotoner

In the middle of day two of Tonsillitis. Just came back from the doctor and he confirmed what I had pretty much knew already. On a set of antibiotics, which leaves me out of the Brooklyn Brewery beer dinner night that's being held within spitting distance of my house.

Was supposed to hit it up with three of my fellow beer geeks, but it's not in the cards tonight, nor will it be any time soon.

It's not for lack of appetite, but because of the amoxicillin that the doc has me on. Apparently I'm still highly contagious.

So he wrote me the script and I took it to where I always have gone - right down the street from the house. It's where Dad always got his. He was on a myriad of prescriptions over the years. Diabetes, high blood pressure, too much bad cholesterol, not enough good cholesterol, stress meds, blood thinners - he had his share of pills.

That's not to mention the two mild strokes and the heart attack doctors believed he had all before cancer popped up and got him.

A few times a month he'd wander over to the Rite Aid, Thrift Drug, or whatever it was being called that week to get his meds. Usually it'd be coupled with a trip to the 7-11 for smokes and the Petsmart where he'd go in and play with the dogs.

It was a routine that was much needed for him. Without a steady job in the last three plus years of his life, it was some semblance of normalcy.

Today I approached the counter with the prescription ready. The ladies there were the same ones that have been there for as long as I can remember. They're the ones who were there when Dad took me to get painkillers for my wisdom teeth.

I was in a daze and don't recall ever getting any.

Apparently I was there last in 2008 and about this time of year. Maybe it's a testament to my health, lifestyle and genes that it has been more than 700 days since I had to last step foot in the pharmacy.

Now for those of you who have never met my Mom or knew my Dad, it may be tough to pick me as their son if you put me in a crowded room. Neither of them grew to be over 5-foot-7 - Chances are I could hurdle over top of Mom if I had to.

My big nose, ears and dark eyes and hair clearly come from my maternal side. Didn't get Dad's green eyes, physical ability or even his perfect handwriting. Aside from his temper and the baseball glove wanted to make sure I had when he passed, I'm not sure what else of his I have.

September it will be three years - more than 1,000 days.

I had to call up Aetna today because of course I couldn't find my healthcare card. The ten-day pack of antibiotics is $89 without the card. As I was on the phone getting the number, the pharmacist came over and gave me one to get the drug in my system to start.

When I got the number, she asked "you're the hockey player, aren't you?"

Always suspicious whenever someone inquires if I'm a writer or involved in hockey, I nodded and she said "we really liked your father a lot. We miss him."

Taken aback by the comment of a stranger who knew me without knowing me, I smiled, thanked her, paid my $3 and went on my way.

It got me to thinking about who Dad was and how brief encounters with people can have long-term effects on others. Here are two ladies who may have interacted with him for a total of five minutes every three weeks.

He probably was cordial toward them knowing the grief that others give them on a daily basis. Dad was the same way to servers at restaurants and clerks at the store anyone he came across pretty much.

They must surely deal with people who are more of a handful than he ever was, but it was enough for them to send a card when he died and to remember his son years after his death.

I may not have his physical traits, but the effect Dad had on others is something I hope that somewhere is encoded in my genes too.