The Alley Saga

He calls her “Glen.” I call my dad “VinSaint” — because honestly, the man is an angel 😇

Our family’s dementia journey started nearly six years ago, when we found out my grandfather, Ralphie, had been living with dementia. We had no idea what to do with that information. But we did what felt right — we honored his wish to stay home as long as possible.

One thing we did do? We took out the back gate of the fence at his house. It led straight to the alley, and we worried about him wandering. Seemed like a reasonable safety call at the time.

Well… my mom has never recovered from the trauma of that gate being gone.

She brings it up more often than she talks about the weather. It drives her bananas. Why? Because that alley became her self-declared community service mission. She and my dad (well… mostly she) clean it like it’s their civic duty. The missing gate? Just a pesky obstacle.

So what do they do?

They walk all the way around the block with a lawn mower, wheelbarrow, rake, electric blower, and — for whatever reason — a giant axe, courtesy of my dad, who apparently thinks they’re off to conquer a jungle.

Mom: “Honey, pick up the rocks so I don’t break the mower.”

Dad: (already channeling his inner lumberjack with the axe): “Sure.”

She fires up the mower.

And then…

CLING! CLANG! KA-BOOM!

Shards of something — glass? metal? forgotten dreams? — go flying in every direction. Neighbors duck like the neighborhood’s under attack. Turns out she hit a hidden stump or treasure chest. No one’s sure.

Of course, Mom blames Dad. But we all know who hit the tree. 😅

Dad saunters over, axe in hand, trying to look helpful, and just as the drama peaks — BOOM! — the skies open up. Rain pouring. They’re now drenched, dragging a broken lawn mower, stuck a full block from home.

They finally return, soaked and exhausted. Mom’s cleaning the mower, muttering under her breath. Dad? Just stands in the pouring rain and says, completely deadpan, “I’m cold.”

Mom: “WELL GET OUT OF THE RAIN AND STAND ON THE PORCH, GENIUS.”

Eventually, they get inside.

Mom: “We smell like wet dogs. Go take a shower.”

Dad: 🫡 (still holding the axe like he’s guarding the house)

And like the loving wife she is, she still makes him dinner. But while she’s on the phone with my brother, Dad decides it’s a good time to scrub his muddy shoes — with a floor brush — in the kitchen — flinging dirt into her food like he’s seasoning it.

She turns slowly and says, “I just can’t with you anymore.”

So they decide to shift the vibe and just relax. They plop on the couch to watch Ugliest Houses in America. Thirty minutes later, they’re laughing, cozy, and already planning their next great idea.

Mom: “The house is too cold…”

Dad: “We should carpet the walls — you know, for insulation!”

Y’all. The walls.

Carpet.Why?

So my dad can vacuum the walls? 🤦‍♀️

And because the alley still haunts their dreams, they decide they’ll just take a few boards out of the fence to make it easier to access — because heaven forbid the alley stays untouched. Oh, and about reinstalling the gate? My husband (bless him) cuts in: “You can walk your ass around. Nobody’s touching that fence.”

So here we are.

A daughter, telling the tale of her wonderfully ridiculous, stubborn, loving, and endlessly entertaining parents — Gwen and VinSaint. A couple who somehow turn chaos into connection, chores into comedy, and ordinary afternoons into family legends.

And yes, my dad may not always be innocent, but I’ll tell you right now — in this story?He absolutely is. ❤️.

⸻

Thank you, Mom and Dad.

For showing us that love doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

For letting us see your missteps, your messes, your muddy shoes and broken lawn mowers. For being vulnerable enough to laugh at yourselves — and with each other. You’ve taught us that even in the chaos, even in the rain, there’s joy to be found.

Your love is real.

It’s imperfect.

It’s beautifully human.

And it’s ours.

We are better for watching you grow through it all — together. 💛