Bruce Jenner is a woman.

Sunday field trips to area Walmarts are always an adventure with Dad.

I love my dad. In a time of broken and blended families, loving your dad and having him in your life is a blessing. In my case, it's a full time job.

Many see the challenges of being a caretaker as cheerless. I won't say it's easy. What is? Life is full of challenges, but having my dad with me every day is a gift we both cherish and I fondly refer to him as "my rescue dog". Like any old dog, he is loving and loyal and far beyond the capacity of learning any "new tricks".

Eighty-three percent of family caregivers report that their loved one lives either in their own home or the home of a family member.

I work part time and write so I can spend time with Dad. We have little projects, he helps around the house and at night he retreats to his big chair to read the newspaper, watch the local news station and click through sports channels. He's a huge sports fan, so much so that he can get crazy for days about a team or a sensational news headline. That's why I instituted the Sunday field trip.

We live in Louisville, Kentucky and there are many great sights to see. A while back, we started including a side tour at the end of the field trip. I locate the closest Walmart to our trip and we pick up groceries for dinner. We call it the foreign Walmart tour.

My dad loves to get lost in a Walmart, even easier in a store he doesn't know; chatting up moms and kids and flirting with the elderly women. I keep an eye on my dad and make sure he has his phone. He has a dangerous disability.

Somewhere along the way he lost his filter. You won't find this affliction on a medical website. It manifests itself by preempting thought process with verbal response: in other words, speaking before you think. Even worse, for a guy Dad's age, diminished hearing turns up the volume of the outburst. It's kind of like Turret's, except in Dad's case, he knows what he's saying; at least I think he does.

"Look at that woman's butt," he'll say or, "How many damn tattoos did that kid have?" he'll shout out. It may be of cataclysmic interest in the moment, but this is not something to proclaim to the whole of Aisle 5. Manners aside, it's just not safe in an "open carry" state.

One Sunday morning we were reading the newspaper together, planning our itinerary for the field trip and foreign Walmart. "What the hell's wrong with these people," Dad said, a typically broad and well-traveled conversation of news in today's world. This day dad was fascinated with the story of the Bruce Jenner's car crash. It was splashed in the morning paper and lit up the television news.

I tried to help my dad along with the headlines and considered how to explain Bruce's challenges and who the Kardashians were, but where do you begin to tell the tale of that hot mess? I decided to leave it alone. It was a long and bizarre trail that my dad would lose and soon forget after hearing. Move on to the day.

A couple Sundays later, we were wrapping up a tour of the industrial area south of the airport, in a foreign Walmart, waiting to checkout out twenty items or less. I paid for the groceries, leaving Dad at the end of the checkout looking for cookies next the tabloids. It had been a good day.

That's when it happened. Like a sudden crack of thunder, everyone in line was shocked into attention. It wasn't the silence, but the din of a Sunday checkout that was pierced. All eyes went to my dad as he pointed to a tabloid and shouted at the top of his lungs like the magazine was on fire.

"LYNN, you got to see this! Bruce Jenner's a woman. He's a woman on two of these books. Bruce Jenner is a WOMAN. Jesus Christ, what happened to Bruce in that car accident"?

I like to believe I'm pretty good at thinking on my feet but that Sunday, I set a world record for recognition and action. It was the fastest I ever moved, pushing my dad and the cart out the door. As we cleared the automatic doors, I could still hear people at the checkout laughing like it was a comedy club.

Sometimes the most valuable moments in our lives are learned through humility and in our presence to others. These are the times we cherish, the unexpected gift that are given for nothing less than love. I love you Dad.

At $470 billion in 2013, the value of unpaid caregiving exceeded the value of paid home care and total Medicaid spending in the same year, and nearly matched the value of the sales of the world’s largest company, Wal-Mart ($477 billion). [AARP Public Policy Institute. (2015). Valuing the Invaluable: 2015 Update.]