My father gave me heart failure today.
I emailed him over a week ago asking him if he wanted to come out to celebrate my birthday next Sunday. He usually responds to my emails in a day or two. Well, after a week and nothing, I tried again. That was sometime Sunday, I think. Well, as of the end of class this afternoon, still no response. I'm starting to panic. I speed down Alameda Ave., past the police headquarters, no less, to get to his apartment. His car was parked outside, so I knew he didn't go to Blackhawk to go gambling. I go inside and pound on his door. Nothing. I pound again. Nothing. I went back out to my car and got my cell phone. I called. I could hear the phone ringing inside, I got the answering machine, I call "Dad, Daaaaaaaadddddd!" The machine hangs up on me. I bang on the door again. Still nothing. It's after 2 p.m. While Dad works nights like I do, he's usually up by 1 p.m. or so. He's getting hard of hearing, but I should've rousted him by now. I call again. I plead into the answering machine for Dad to answer. Hung up on again. I beat the door with my fists. I'm sure by now his neighbors can hear this and are going to call the cops. I start hearing my sister lecturing me in my head about not checking up on him sooner. I start imagining the worst possible outcome. I was fumbling for the key to his apartment to let myself in when I finally see an eyeball in his peephole. I was so relieved. The man scared me half to death. He says, "I'm sorry, I haven't checked my email in a couple of days." Try over a week. Oh, well, at least he's fine. I, on the other hand, have a new batch of grey hairs.
I emailed him over a week ago asking him if he wanted to come out to celebrate my birthday next Sunday. He usually responds to my emails in a day or two. Well, after a week and nothing, I tried again. That was sometime Sunday, I think. Well, as of the end of class this afternoon, still no response. I'm starting to panic. I speed down Alameda Ave., past the police headquarters, no less, to get to his apartment. His car was parked outside, so I knew he didn't go to Blackhawk to go gambling. I go inside and pound on his door. Nothing. I pound again. Nothing. I went back out to my car and got my cell phone. I called. I could hear the phone ringing inside, I got the answering machine, I call "Dad, Daaaaaaaadddddd!" The machine hangs up on me. I bang on the door again. Still nothing. It's after 2 p.m. While Dad works nights like I do, he's usually up by 1 p.m. or so. He's getting hard of hearing, but I should've rousted him by now. I call again. I plead into the answering machine for Dad to answer. Hung up on again. I beat the door with my fists. I'm sure by now his neighbors can hear this and are going to call the cops. I start hearing my sister lecturing me in my head about not checking up on him sooner. I start imagining the worst possible outcome. I was fumbling for the key to his apartment to let myself in when I finally see an eyeball in his peephole. I was so relieved. The man scared me half to death. He says, "I'm sorry, I haven't checked my email in a couple of days." Try over a week. Oh, well, at least he's fine. I, on the other hand, have a new batch of grey hairs.
Name: LaDonna
