My dad called me 11 times yesterday.
I ignored every one.
I was busy with work, stuck in traffic, answering messages, doing all the things that somehow always feel more important in the moment.
He left one voicemail.
It’s nothing important, son.
Call me when you’re free.
I didn’t call back.
Not until today.
When I finally did, he sounded completely normal.
Then he said, I fixed your old bicycle.
I actually had to think for a second.
He was talking about the bike I used to ride to school when I was a kid.
He’d cleaned it, oiled the chain and put new tires on it.
Then he said, I thought maybe your son could use it one day.
I just sat there.