My dad and I took each other to lunch today. I drove and steered him toward the table. He pulled out a $10 bill, sure that would cover the tab. Like most things these days, his calculation is a bit short of present day reality.

My father has dementia--bad. It is getting worse. Sadness is what I feel most these days on this visit from Connecticut to a familiar territory that I still call home.

So we went to lunch at the local Skyline Chili. Skyline is an institution in Cincinnati and surrounding environs. Skyline is a spicy, sweet chili sauce spread over spaghetti noodles and laden with finely grated cheddar cheese. That is "3-Way." "4-Way" adds onions; "5-Way" adds onions and red kidney beans. If you grew up around Cincinnati, like I did, you were probably weaned off the breast straight onto Skyline chili. My standard order is a "3-Way" and a cheese coney--that is a steamed hot dog with chili sauce and lots of grated cheese.

So we went to Skyline for lunch and to share a meaningful activity when talk is difficult because my father hardly remembers anything to talk about these days.

Skyline is "The Official Chili of the Cincinnati Reds." Another point of memory and contact--the Reds. My earliest memories include listening to Reds' games on radio as the family drove in the car. Wearing a Reds' uniform, made for me by my grandmother. Leafing through a scrapbook my dad put together of the 1939 and 1940 pennant-winning Reds' teams when he was a boy. Going with my dad to Crosley Field to see the Reds play. Trying to pronounce the surname of the great Ted Klusewski, # 18, my first favorite player for the home-town team.

My dad is not big on emotions; not big on communicating feelings; not big on 'sharing' his inner thoughts. He grew up in a time when people didn't have "inner thoughts." So the Reds have been the main connect point with my dad for over fifty years. The Reds are my main connect point to so many things related to home; family; growing up. My oldest son was born just outside Cincinnati on October 16, 1976. Later that day the Reds shut out the hated New York Yankees in the first game of the World Series. Today that son, and his younger brother and my grandson all bleed Cincinnati Red, though they live hundreds of miles away from my hometown along the Ohio River.

Its crazy--I know.

So today we are sitting in Skyline and the waitress comes to take our order and she teases my dad, "Looks like Trouble's here!" It was just like he has teased her countless times over recent years. But he doesn't recognize her; it even took him a while to recognize Debbie, my wife of 38 years, when we arrived here a couple days ago. But he did recognize the "3-Way" when it was set before him. Some things are etched indelibly on one's senses.

On the television screens in the chili parlor they were playing a replay of last night's Reds game. The Reds won--that always brightens the mood of the local populace. I had been at the game last night, seated nine rows behind the Reds' dugout. Had been there for two dramatic late inning home runs to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Like thousands of other fans I stood during the last batter for the opposition and cheered the final out, celebrating along with the fireworks that mark every home win.

But today at Skyline I was not celebrating. Trouble is indeed here for my dad; his mind is just not working. And I found out today what "3-Way" tastes like when washed down with tears.