After it was clear in the summer of 2004 that my father could not function normally, and being only 61, the process of getting him on disability had to be started. With my mother terminal with breast cancer, my middle brother starting a career and my youngest brother in the army over in Iraq this duty fell to me. I was the oldest son, the closest with my father, I did not hesitate to take charge. At 33 there was so much to learn in a short period of time. The forms for his union, the doctors visits, the Social Security forms and interview were all quite daunting to me. One particular day always jumps into my mind. I get off early from work to pick up my father to take him to a psychologist to have him tested for his disability pension. We get to the doctors Manhattan office, he takes off his jacket and to my shock and horror he has a joke T-shirt on that says “I have No Idea What is Going on”. I flip. How could he wear this to this doctor appointment? How could my mother allow him to wear this? I quickly change shirts with him. He is totally confused, I am steaming angry, not yet aware or ready for the kind of crazy behavior someone with dementia can exhibit. I look back chuckle and shake my head. Today I would have left the shirt on and pointed to it as proof of the disability.