My dad visited over the weekend and as we sat in my backyard, enjoying a beer and a cigar (him) he started to get wistful (as cigars often make him) and he started talking about when he leaves my house (or my sister’s house or my brother’s house) he always feels a little guilty. He also always looks in his rearview mirror hoping to see us chasing after him, begging him not to go.
This last part turned out to be a lie.
An hour or so later, my father left and as I turned back into my house, I saw that he left the bag of things my mom left behind. I grabbed the bag, hobbled out the front door, down my stairs and started screaming “Dad.”
I waved my arms. I screamed louder. But he pulled out of his parking spot and headed down my street.
I had to run for it.
And by run, it was more like a really awkward skip with my arms still flailing.
Fortunately, I only had to awkwardly skip half a block as there is a stop sign at the end of my street.
While I was proud of my sort of half block run, I won’t be attempting that again anytime soon. They say you have to walk before you can run and I’m still very much limping (in general – not from the run). I’m down to one crutch and getting up and down stairs easier and faster. So I’ll refrain from any more awkward skips in favor of getting off the crutch and walking without a limp.