It’s Saturday. My turn to spend time with my father. I’m ready to go. And, then, I’m not. My cold–or, whatever it is–takes a turn for the worse. I’ve been struggling with it for several months now. It keeps coming back, or, maybe it never leaves. I’ve called Pop several times, but he’s been out on his daily walk with his Little Red Race Car. He’s in better health than he’s been in the last five years. He gets my number off the “tattle-tale” (Caller ID device), and calls my cell phone.
Pop: Well, tell me about it.
Janet: My cold’s come back, and I’m tired. I need to rest some more. Go ahead and eat your dinner. I can come over by suppertime.
Pop: Sounds like you’re all tuckered out. You’d better stay over there. Life’s too short. There’s nothing here that needs your attention. I’m fine. Just come over in the morning.
Janet: I love you, Pop.
And, without him saying so directly, it’s clear that he loves me too. You gotta decode the love that stares you in the face.In this case Daddy Care turns into Janet Care.