I'll go back to previous entries and expand on this, but Papa H. has a dementia that disinhibits him from saying things. H. was saying that they were having difficulties in the dining room, and Papa H. was asking the waitresses if they were married, and saying that he'd have to find them husbands, among other things.
Later, he asked if I had a boyfriend. He asked if I'd go out with a Jewish man, then if I'd go out with a black man. He asked which I'd prefer, and I said that was a bad question. I'm not going to pick between religion and race. H. talked about how race relations were sixty years ago, and how they've changed.
Somewhere in there, Dad said that at some point maybe I'd find Mr. Right. "Or Ms. Right," he said. Papa H. picked up on that enough to ask if I'd date a black woman, or a Jewish woman. I outright lied and said no. I did not want to get into my sexual orientation with an eighty-eight-year-old family member with dementia. If he was capable of remembering me, I did not want him to have all his focus on my sexual preferences and discuss them with anyone he ran across.
I told S. that I'd lied, and why. I don't know if he approved, exactly, but he accepted it enough to keep talking to me.