My father is 86 years old this month. He?'s in remarkably good shape for a man his age. He'?s always looked much younger than he is ? still as slender as he was in college, has all his teeth, beautiful thick salt-and-pepper hair, and his choice of widow women, if he wanted them.

He doesn't.

My mother died 14 years ago. Dad has been taking care of the house and living alone since. Taking care of the house except for cleaning, that is; 51 years of marriage to The Cleanest Woman On Earth had no effect on his inability to wipe the kitchen counter or vacuum the carpet.

I like the old boy. Much more now than when I was 18. That?s typical of the parent/child dynamic, I would imagine. I take food to him almost every week and we gab for a while.

I'?m no cook, but dad'?s culinary expertise is limited to Jell-O (with sliced bananas if he wants to be fancy, or with Mandarin oranges if he has company) and what he calls spaghetti sauce.

He calls his ?spaghetti sauce? chili if he doesn't have any pasta to go with it. If he serves it on bread, it'?s a Sloppy Joe. Sometimes he adds a little more water and calls it soup. It?'s all the same recipe (or lack of a recipe is more like it), with a different name, depending upon what is served with it.

I've made the mistake of eating it once or twice. It settles like a rock in the stomach. It can also be used for patching the driveway and tuck-pointing the chimney.

He?'s beginning to get somewhat forgetful, too. In a 20 minute conversation, he will tell me the EXACT same story 3 times. I just smile, ?Oh really! That?'s interesting. Or, ?No kidding! I've never heard THAT before!? At 86, he'?s allowed some eccentricities and mental lapses.

In the past several years or so, his eccentricities have included hanging out at auctions. This is a mixed blessing. It keeps him occupied, because the ?auction circuit? is filled with retired men who see them more as social events than sales. It'?s the equivalent of High Tea for the old guys.

?There'?s an auction over in Independence Saturday. Think I?ll probably go. There?'s nothing on the list that I'?m interested in, but Jim Wiggins will probably be there. Did I ever tell you about him? Hell of a nice guy, and a real character!?

The problem arises when my father sees a bargain. In HIS mind it?'s a bargain.

?Yip, can you get away from work for a few minutes? I just bought 23 lamps and need you to help me get them home.?

(True story.)

?Jesus Mary and Joseph! Why in HELL would you buy 23 lamps??

?Well, the guy couldn'?t get a bid on them. Some of them are damned nice, too. So I blew three bucks.?

(Get a clue, old man. He couldn't get a bid because nobody WANTS that crap. They've been sitting in someone'?s basement since the Nixon Administration. They were ugly to begin with--back when they actually worked. Now they have frayed cords and 4 pounds of dust on the torn shades.)

?I figure, if you kids don?t want a few of them, I?'ll donate them to the Disabled Vets. Wait, hold on a second. Never mind coming over here. Jim Wiggins is here. He said he'd help me get them home. Did I ever tell you about him? Hell of a nice guy, and a real character!?

It?'s also problematic when my brother or I tell him we'?re in the market for something. If we happen to mention not having a hand saw, within a week we have five of them. ?

This one would be good for trimming tree branches. This'?n has a nice curve to the blade and the teeth are in perfect condition! This small one will get in to hard-to-reach places.?

A few weeks ago I made the mistake of telling him the electric fan in my office shot craps. (One would think I would know better by now.) It wasn't 3 days ?until I got a call at work.

?Stop by the house on your way home. I've got a fan for you. There was an auction over on Sycamore. Saw Jim Wiggins. Did I ever tell you about him? Hell of a nice guy, and a real character!?

So far, he's given me three fans for the office. ?Thanks, but, no more fans dad, OK? I'?m running out of electrical outlets. And paperweights.?

It could be a lot worse. I have a friend with an elderly father who blows money on pornographic magazines and ?sexual enhancement? drugs.

My father could be down at a topless bar stuffing money into G-strings and getting lap dances. If blowing a few bucks at an auction makes him happy, what do I care? I don'?t. Until he finds another ?bargain?, that is.

Next time it?'ll be a paperweight collection. Or maybe more fans. Jim Wiggins will help get them home. He?'s a hell of a nice guy, and a real character, so I?'m told.

Repeatedly.

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