Can You Ground an 89-Year-Old?

Thursday evening Dad wanted to talk about something. He said he wanted to go to dinner with three friends on Friday. He was planning to have them to the house for hors d'oeuvres and drinks at 5:00 before leaving for the restaurant at about 6:00. Dad doesn't like to buy alcohol at restaurants because it's so pricey. That didn't surprise me. He was asking my permission. I said, "Do you realize you'll be leaving the house after dark?" He looked at me quizzically. "Daylight savings time is over, Dad. When you leave the house after cocktails, you will be walking outside in the dark. Do you realize that?" Again the confused look. "So, you don't want to take Carmi, right?" "Right." "I trust these friends because Bruce is able to help you walk but it will be dark and you want to go to a restaurant in the Canyon. You will need to take your wheelchair." "Oh, I will. Yes, we take that when we go to the doctor's office." "So you promise you will go in your wheelchair and they will push you, and you won't be up walking in the dark?" "Oh, yes, yes." "We'll take the one with the small wheels in the hall here." "And you'll be home about 8:00?" "Oh, yes, yes." "So Carmi will go home about 6:00?" "Yes. I feel like I'm a child asking my mommy if I can go out." "And I feel like your mommy trying to find out if you're going to be safe going out."

Friday evening I arrived home from the hospital at about 8:10 to find Dad and company trying to punch in the keyless entry code at the front door. Oddly enough, and I didn't notice it at first, Dad was using his walker. When I figured it out, anger flashed momentarily in my eyes. That little #$%@! Where was the wheelchair? I don't know how to approach him about that. I feel betrayed! Can you ground an 89-year-old?