So, Papi Butch Didn't Like The Ray Charles Song I Sent Via Text - "Turn That Noise Off."

Papi Butch (without a piano or keyboard)

(This is a son-of-a-Butch post)

Yesterday, my father had the first of two cataract procedures to correct his vision and to bring him back to the vision we've all come to love: his harassing of my mother and his looking for someone...anyone... to talk to while drinking a beer.

His first words to me on the phone after the procedure was, "Everything is so damn bright now. I look at your mother and, man, has she gotten old" (a joke he borrowed from my mother's Facebook post).

He then told me how he jimmied a make-shift eye patch because the light was a little too intense and that his Ray Charles glasses weren't helping. That's when I texted a Ray Charles' song to my sister and she played it. His response, "Get that noise out of my house."

That's Butch. He's feeling just fine.

Seriously, I am so happy to know that the first eye went okay (at least better than his first colonoscopy) and that sometime today he will be able to see clearly that the clouds are gone. It's gonna be a bright...bright...bright, sunshiny day!

And it's funny that Butch and I both had medical procedures this spring because neither  of us cares much for doctors (I inherited that gene from him). We'd rather go about our business, living in our heads with our stories and mission to drive everyone nuts, than pay someone to tell us what is wrong with us. But, we  both sought professional help this month and are be better men because of it.

We love Papi Butch and are thrilled to know that for the first time in our lives his ol' stink eye isn't because he's pissed at us, but because he had a surgical procedure.

Yes, Dad. We love you. Here's to your quick recovery.