My Father – 31 Jan 2020

A familiar voice over the phone,
“About two hours?”
“Hello?”, I replied.
“OK, about two hours. I’ll be with you in a minute, Ladies.”
“Hello?”, I replied.
A phone call from my father,
just checked into the nursing home,
ended abruptly without an acknowledgement.

Two days later, my sister told me a story.
A female orderly, threatened by my
angry father, allowed him to make a call.
He needed to get his truck fixed.
A truck he no longer owns.

I recall a similar event.
The control module in his Chevy truck failed.
It was ’87 or ’88, late summer, Akron, Ohio.
I was studying Engineering after my time in the Navy.
Outside the professional offices of our HMO,
I picked him up to buy a new one.
It was the first time he ever let me drive him anywhere.
As his peer, I might finally be his friend.