Finals, a Root Canal and a Funeral

You just can't make a week like this up.

Finals week always sucks. I don't need to say much about that. Root canals... they make it tough to study. Let's talk about the funeral. It's really on my mind.

First, Al (name altered) had the audacity to die at a time that caused his funeral to conflict with my macroeconomics final. When I emailed my professor about the problem, he graciously offered to allow me to take the final at another time, but it would mean that the format would be changed from 100% multiple choice to 50% multiple choice 50% essay. Perhaps I should have left it at that, but it somehow struck me as wrong that I should be given a more difficult test at a time where it would be more difficult for me to study for it. I said as much and was told that the test was no more difficult, just a different format. To that, I responded that a M.C. test is inherently easier because the answer is in front of you. My professor curtly dismissed the matter, and I told him I was appalled by his lack of empathy. That pissed him off, but he agreed to give me a MC test. I can hardly wait to see this test. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut.

So, about Al. He was 91, and he was my buddy. Al married my wife's Nana 10 years ago. In fact, I proposed to my wife on their wedding day. He lived healthily until the day that he died. He just plain tuckered out. I believe he was on a ladder the day before he died, cleaning out his gutters. He was a gentleman. He was a storyteller. He told a story in a way that we Yankees appreciate. He would tell the most fantastic story with as much fanfare as most of us would read a grocery list. He did it in away that makes you stop him and ask, "What did you just say?" He knew Ty Cobb. Didn't have much to say to say about Ty, because Al was a gentleman, like I said.

My favorite story came during one of our hunting trips. BTW, I hated hunting with Al, because everything Al did, he did better than anyone else. By which I mean, he was always the last one out of the woods and always well after sunset. I always imagined having to explain to Nana that I lost her 85 year old husband in the woods. Anyway, during one of our trips, we were heading to one of his old spots, and he's telling me in great detail about every deer he ever shot in this piece of woods when he says, "Right over there is where my first wife shot me in 196*." Then on to another deer story.
"What did you just say?"
"I said it was a six pointer, dressed out at 172".
"No, before that."
"Oh, my first wife shot me. Lost my left testicle. I'm pretty sure it was an accident. She seemed pretty broke up about it, and she did help me get out of the woods."

How can you not love this guy.

I used to golf with him too. He could drive a ball about 75 yards, but he consistently kicked my ass. He had a way of talking me into trouble that I hadn't even noticed. "Watch that pond on the far right. "

"What pond?" Whack." Oh!" He almost always had to give me a couple of balls to finish the round. He got quite a kick out of how easy it was to get me off my game.

He was a widower and Nana was a widow and they were about the happiest couple I knew. Nana is pretty broke up about it.