My Dad has been sick for a week, and what he likes to do when he's sick is sit in the kitchen drinking his tea or sit in the great room watching his baseball, and blow his nose. All day long it's:

Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze!

"I'm sick," he'll enlighten us.

Cough, cough, cough!

"Oh boy, I don't feel so good," and then he'll swallow whatever came up with the cough.

Blow, blow, blow!

"What's for lunch?" he'll ask, as he peeks into his handkerchief.

So much for my lunch.

He'll spend all his time in the common areas coughing and sneezing and complaining. I feel like telling him, "Dad, go to your room," but my wife will remind me, "He's your Dad," so I'll hold my tongue. I like the compassion the new Pope has shown since he's been in office, but my wife's got him beat by a mile.

When I'm sick, I stay in my room until I get better. When my wife is sick, she stays in her room until she gets better. When any of my kids are sick, they stayed in their rooms until they were better. Even our grandson, a toddler, when he's sick, he'll stay in our room sleeping and eating and sleeping some more.

My Dad? Well, let me just say...

Thank God for Lexapro.