Dad and I are okay.

Is blood thicker than water? Hard to say, especially when the water is as green and goopy as the water at the lake this year. Thickness aside, blood does allow one to leave the door open while peeing, and both dad and I do a lot of that.

I think it's probably just his 65-year-old prostate, but dad does complain about having to pee often and urgently. This means not having to explain why the cooler with the bait in it also contains an empty cottage cheese container, or why I sleep with one next to my bed at the cabin. Actually, I came close to telling my dad that I've been wearing Depends Guards for Men for the last 5 years and that I highly recommend them. Why didn't I? Well, I told myself that he doesn't sound quite as bad off as I am, that he would never put himself in diapers, that it would complete his journey to geezerness in the eyes of his wife, who's twenty years younger, and god forbid his two tweener kids should find out. But it was hard to hear him talk about how he, like me, finds himself avoiding social situations in which he might find himself unable to get to a bathroom. Still, there are probably worse things to regret about one's relationship with one's father.

Usually, when dad's up at the cabin, he seems to do a lot more work than recreating. Last weekend, though, I was proud how little work he did and how much time we spent sitting in the boat together. Fishing was good, and we spent an hour filleting crappies after a couple glasses of wine. I think both of us realize the extent to which we are cut from the same cloth. At the same time, I think we both realize the extent to which I, as a result of MS, cannot live a life that looks like his: I'll probably never be able to live with the self-sufficiency and independence that he and I both seem to prize.