Dad’s cure

‘Dad’s cures’ were family lore and although he didn’t realise, or more likely didn’t care, his children laughed about them. John prided himself on his home made remedies.

Jane, his darling wife of over fifty years, tolerated his irritation when someone in the family would go to the pharmacy seeking, “a pill for it.”

“Those pharmaceutical companies love people like you,” he’d moan to whoever was seeking a quick fix. “Making a bloody fortune they are. People are gullible, they believe all the claims. It’s all just smoke and mirrors.”

No, John’s best advice for whatever ailed anyone one was to “lose weight and exercise.” Great advice everyone might agree. Although when someone’s broken an ankle or maybe slipped a disc, the push to get them to their feet and, “work it off,” could annoy!

John took pride in not needing to take medication. His blood pressure was that of a young man and for someone his age was still quite agile.

He took care of the home maintenance and gardening. Seldom dressing up, preferring to wear his uniform of jeans, a tee shirt and baseball cap.
When the occasion called for it though, he wore the same suit he’d brought from “the old country,” forty-five years ago. “It still fits me to perfection, there's few who could say that,” he’d state, patting the still flat stomach.

Jane on the other hand, although being quite fit for an eighty-year-old, experienced her share of ailments. She always took her doctor's advice and the prescribed medication, even though she sensed that John was sure he had a better cure in his arsenal.

When a grandchild had a sore throat, John would say, “he doesn't need those rubbish antibiotics. Wrap a woollen sock around his neck and massage Vick's under the soles of his feet. He’ll be better in no time!”
If anyone dared cough around John, in an instant out came the famous remedy, a mixture of onion, apple-cider-vinegar, garlic, ginger and honey.
“I’ve got just the thing for that cough. Take this, it’ll soon fix you up,” he’d say, presenting a bottle labeled ‘Koff stuff,’ to the disbeliever.

When Jane’s podiatrist prescribed orthotics for a foot problem, John set to work moulding her a pair from ‘roof and gutter’ silicone. “They'll do the job better than those expensive things,” he told her when he presented her with his creation. She took them from him, acknowledging the time and the love involved in their manufacture.

However, even John had to resort to getting help from the medical profession when he fell from the roof whilst cleaning the gutters. Jane had told him endless times to get someone in to do the job but to no avail. Then one day as she stood at the kitchen window, she saw him crash down from a great height. He landed on the outdoor table. At least it broke his fall she thought.

She visited him in the hospital where he was recovering from multiple broken bones. He whispered to her, “when you come in tomorrow will you bring in a drop of my home brew?”

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