Waiting. I am not a fan of waiting. Especially when this person doesn’t respond to my many calls to see if all is ok. Waiting and worrying, a sure-fire way to make myself go crazy, so I’ve decided that, today, I will not worry if this person is dead on the side of the road, worry that this person has indeed been picked up and is in jail, or in a hospital, or worse.
This person does not owe me any type of explanation whatsoever and is waaay over 21 to be asking permission to go anywhere. And it does not matter how many times I sit here and wait for this person, it is still the same: is this person dead? alive? sick? well? in jail? hurt? and is anything wrong with this person’s fingers that I get no phone call? I have been known to make myself crazy with worry, calling and calling and calling. Getting furious with this person and with myself for getting so alocada.
I guess that, no matter how old you get, that you will always find it difficult to discover that, yes, your father has a life out of this house. It could be for a minute, or for hours, that he is late getting home, and the tables turn q u i c k. On the one hand, my father is not chained to the Ranch, he regularly is out and about. I tend to forget that the man is 81 years old. But like anything else, you know the signs, or should I say smell the signs: The smells of soap and cologne envelop this house, his good hat is gone, and, while he usually lets me know when he’s leaving to go anywhere; when he’s in “going out” mode, I get no notice LOL. I immediately revert back to when I was younger, when the house never felt right when the “adults” were away, when I’d watch out of the windows looking for the white light of their car headlights driving into the Ranch.
Thankfully, I did get a call letting me know where Dad was/is and that he is ok. While we may have to go and pick him up later, that is better than not knowing where he is. I now get it when my parents worried about me not calling, not picking up the phone, not answering. Karma, que no? I also get it that I gain nothing by worrying myself to crazy and getting all mad at my father for wanting a night out. I suppose that I should learn to relax and be blessed that I have an 81-years-young father who is still in good health, strong and sharp as ever.
This healthy, strong, sharp man still needs to let a daughter know whassup though…that’s another battle for another day I guess!