It started innocently enough. My car has been making a sound. Not a check-engine-light sound. Worse. A “hey, remember that band you liked in college? This sounds exactly like their off-key B-side” sound. I mentioned it offhand to my mom on the phone. “Yeah, it’s probably fine. I’ll get it looked at… eventually.”
I stood there, blinking. “Dad, it’s seven in the morning.” oh daddy part 2
I was wrong.
Part 1 was the closet door. Part 2 is the serpentine belt. Part 3 will be the leaky faucet I don’t even know about yet. Part 47 will be him showing up to fix the porch light at my first house. These aren’t moments. They’re a language. It started innocently enough
Fast forward to 7 AM Saturday. I am in my pajamas. Coffee hasn’t touched my lips. There’s a knock at my apartment door. I mentioned it offhand to my mom on the phone
It’s a whole love letter written in oil changes, closet doors, and milk runs.
Don’t wait for the big moments. The graduations, the weddings, the holidays.