A Sunday afternoon hockey game in Manotick – the perfect way to cap off a weekend of family hockey activity. A Sunday afternoon spent with my Italian parents in Nepean – the perfect way to put myself at risk for a heart attack. While an exciting hockey game was brewing at the Manotick Arena, a hearty tomato sauce was brewing somewhere in Nepean’s little Italy.

I could have sworn I said: “Your grandson has a hockey game. We’ll visit later. Do not hold lunch for me.” Their version: “Your grandson has a hockey stick. I’ll call you later. Hold a luncheon for me.”

I don’t remember ordering five pounds of linguini with a side order of guilt. Upon calling my parents from the Manotick Arena, a woman on the other end of the line was scolding me, something about over-cooked pasta and a case of low blood sugar. If my instincts are correct, I think I was being blamed for my parents’ sudden onset of diabetes, and how they were supposed to eat at noon sharp. No point in lengthy explanations. With a parent on each of their respective extension telephones, they couldn’t hear my pleading above their sighs.

Thankfully, I’ve read enough self-help books to get me through another starch/carbohydrate/guilt laden afternoon with my folks. At long last, I’ve developed some behavior modification techniques that have been working out wonderfully in my home. Some people call it deception. I call it a thought reversal process. By giving family members the answer they want to hear, I am practically floating through my days. For example: Number 2 son: Mom, did you see me score my goal? Answer: Yes.

Husband: Were those shoes really on sale? Answer: Yes.

Teenage daughter: Did you ever find the cordless telephone? Answer: No. Teenage son: Is the car still in the shop? Answer: Yes.

After a drawing of straws, young son was the only member of my family to accompany me on the trip out to Nepean. Pop greeted me at the door with a kiss on each check followed by a KGB style interrogation about a potato sale, the mailing of a pile of letters to Italy, and their new department store credit card. After 40 years in America, they decided to give plastic a go. The gods could be so cruel at times. Hours spent explaining the application/translation/activation process resulted in hours spent explaining the security aspects. Now my parents feared that a break in was in store and a thief would go on a shopping spree on their account. A scolding on the perils of plastic and suddenly I was assigned the job of destroying the card that had just been activated only moments before.

Keeping in mind my new mind power strategy, the conversation went something like this: Italian father with 2 hearing aids: Did you buy the 9 bags of potatoes? Answer: Yes. Italian father: Did you really buy 9 bags of potatoes? Answer: Yes.

Italian father: Did you mail the letters with the air mail stamps? Answer: Yes. Italian father: Did you really mail the letters with the air mail stamps? Answer: Yes. Italian father: Did you cut up the credit card? Answer: Yes. Italian father: Did you really cut up the credit card? Answer: Yes. By 4:00 p.m., I photographed myself and emailed the photo to the New England Journal of Medicine. Suffice it to say, I think I was fairly accurate in diagnosing myself as a textbook case of malaise, irritability and mental fatigue.

I wonder what this week has in store.