Childhood

Dad insisted on going back to the office after his eye surgery yesterday, despite our attempts to talk him out of it. I peered at the rear mirror every five seconds to make sure he was okay; he kept his eyes closed, rubbing his temples. I half-wanted to just turn back and drive him home, but I was afraid he'd get mad, and it probably wasn't the best time to agitate him then. 10 minutes into the journey, he opened his eyes lazily, "Do you think we should go home?"

No, Dad, we've just been telling you that for the past couple of hours.

"Yes."

"Okay. Let's go home," he finally said, as though we'd twisted his arm.

This morning, on the way back from his check-up, he'd again asked to go to the office. Again, we told him he'd better rest, but our suggestions were rebuffed. You can check your e-mail at home. I have work to do in the office. What is more important than getting well? I have work to do in the office.

Thank you, God, for some software that Dad had left at home, that he needed for work. The moment we reached home (with Dad intending to pick up the CD and leave), he headed straight for bed and conked out in a matter of seconds.

With my dad absent from work, and no outstanding deliveries for the week, my mom stayed home too. If I had any doubt that Christmas has come early this year, we all stayed home and played board games. We laughed and played like I was six all over again. Mom won at Scrabble, my brother won at Uno, and I won a day of reliving my childhood.

Merry merry Christmas. :)