Acts of Max

We arrived at the Monterey County Behavioral Health Ward where Dad was being held for a mandatory 72-hour psychiatric hold and were ushered in to visit with our Dad. When we saw Dad, he seemed very content and pleased with himself, and seemingly enjoying his new accommodations. He was convinced that Honda had orchestrated his arrest and was having him incarcerated, but it was okay because he could call Jean and it cost him nothing, whereas if he were home it would be a long-distance call that he would have to pay for! “Nice trade-off Dad! At least he was acting normal as far as it came to saving money on long distance phone calls,” I thought silently to myself. “And look here,” Dad said holding up the Wall Street Journal. “This was waiting for me this morning at the foot of my bed along with clean underwear! I don’t know how they get in here, but a clean pair of underwear was there folded neatly at the foot of my bed this morning when I woke up, along with this Wall Street Journal!” “Here, stand on this chair and look out the window son,” Dad insisted, pulling a chair up to the window. “Tell me what you see out there.” The small window in his room was high and without curtains. Dad had a chair he had used to stand on to look out. Standing on my tiptoes I was just tall enough to look out into the parking lot that was adjacent to his room, so I passed on his offer of the chair. “What do you see son,” Dad asked wanting to prove his point, whatever that is. “I see a parking lot full of cars,” I replied. “Yes, but what kind of cars,” Dad asked smugly. “Just cars Dad, all different makes and models.” I certainly was not going to say that there were any Hondas! “No, look closely at the cars, they are all new cars! They are all new cars because they are from the Honda dealership! Honda has kidnapped me and has paid these people to keep me in here,” Dad countered. “Dad, people drive new cars, most people working at hospitals can afford newer cars. It is just the parking lot where the doctors and nurses park their cars,” I replied, futilely trying to talk reason and logic with a man whom seemed to have none. Dad ignored me and dismissed my rationale, and then moving the chair back to the window he told Connie and Jean to each stand on the chair and to look out the window and tell him what they saw. Connie went first and dutifully stood on the chair as he insisted, and looking out the window she reported to Dad what she saw. It was now Jean’s turn, I felt sorry for her as she fearfully climbed onto the chair to look out the window and report what she saw. After this exercise that proved nothing to us, but everything to him, Dad plopped down on his bed, stretched out making himself comfortable, and flipped open the Wall Street Journal. “Look here, I have made about $200 today, just lying here on my bed,” Dad said pointing to the Stock Market reports. “How much money have you made today son?” “I haven’t made a dime Dad; I am down here with Connie looking after you, trying to clean up your mess!” Dad ignored my caustic comment and continued, “They asked me what newspaper I wanted and I told them I wanted The Wall Street Journal. And this morning The Wall Street Journal was lying here and it costs me nothing,” Dad said triumphantly with a look of great satisfaction radiating from his face. “Oh, you are paying for it,” I informed Dad. “Your friends here may not have to pay for their accommodations, but you have money Dad, and the county will send you a bill. This weekend, after we pay for the car you wrecked and your stay here, it will end up costing you about twenty-grand, Dad!” I was hoping that by talking money I would get Dad’s attention, normally it would, but he was ignoring everything I was telling him and continued to rattle on; focusing instead on how much it was costing Honda to keep him here! Visiting hours were over and all the detainees lined up along side of Dad to watch us leave. We were the only visitors that had showed up (and as it was to turn out, we were the only visitors that ever showed up) and they watched us with great curiosity as we walked across the formidable white lines painted on the floor that surrounded the door area as the security guard opened the door for us. The detainees were not allowed to step over those white lines and they seemed fascinated by our stepping over them and walking through the doors to freedom. We waved good-bye to Dad as he stood there with his newfound friends, all lined up in a row and waving good-bye to us. Dad, as usual was admired wherever he went, even in a psych ward, he was the “leader of the pack!” Yes, Connie was right, I had just joined her in “The Twilight Zone”.