Selfish rant: When your day off is not *your* day off.

Damnit! It's my day off. I was gonna enjoy a little "me" time today, but I just got a call from Dad. He's back in the hospital. He fell, again, while running errands at his bank.

He's fine. Incredibly. Especially for a 90-year-old man. No broken bones. Just banged up. I'm on my way to pick him up and make sure he gets home safely.

The other day Dad called me to report that his car wouldn't start. He wanted me to have my husband Will leave work, drive thirty minutes to Dad's house, and check on it.

Me: "Hey, Dad, let's troubleshoot over the phone before we bother Will. Have you gotten gas lately?"

Dad: "Yeah, just yesterday."

Me: "OK. I want you to go out and unscrew your gas cap, screw it back on til it clicks, and then try to start your car again."

Ten minutes later...

Dad: "Hey, Becky! It started right up. I didn't know you could fix cars!"

Evidently I can do a lot of things I never thought I could do. Like take care of my dad.

When I was a teen, my dad gave me a laminated quarter and told me to put it in my wallet, in case I ever found myself out somewhere "drunk and stranded or something" so I could give him a call. This was back in the day when there were payphones all over the city and all you needed was a quarter to make a call. This was also back in the day when Dad and I regularly screamed at each other, slammed doors in each others faces, and generally tried to stay as far away from each other as possible. So, even back then, it warmed my heart that Dad was thinking of my safety. We might not like each other much, but, in spite of ourselves, we care about each other.

Now it's Dad who calls me for help. It's so weird. If you live long enough, you become someone you never thought you'd be. Dad has grown a teeny tiny bit less angry and selfish over the years. I have grown a teeny tiny bit less angry and impatient over the years. I'll never enjoy hanging out with my dad. He's a pain in my ass. We disagree on nearly everything from politics to religion to what is considered to be "good" music. But, he's my dad. And I'm my father's daughter. And, together, after all the struggles, we just might figure out not just how to care for each other, but why in the hell we do.