A Dad's Job

A Dad’s Job

         It was one of those surreal moments that feels
like a bad dream. Only this was real. My tongue felt
like sandpaper and I couldn’t hold a coherent thought. I
closed my eyes and drifted off. I remember waking to
the sound of my father’s voice and a mind-numbing
pain in my left arm. The memory of the accident was
beginning to come back.
         The light turned green and I inched forward
through the intersection. The driver of the blue sedan
didn’t see the light turn red-or me for that matter. The
next thing I know I’ve got two pins and a metal plate in
my wrist. I know what you’re thinking: An ER nurse
should know better. What can I say? I wouldn’t trade
my motorcycle for a thousand blue sedans.
         “Tabitha, it’s not safe,” Dad sounded like a
broken record. “It doesn't matter how good a driver you
are, it’s the other people I worry about.”
         Oh yeah, you worry all right. You worry
because I work third shift. You worry because I’m thirty-
one and still single. Let’s face it, you worry.
         “Your mother and I are so thankful it was only
your arm that was broken.” I can see Dad fighting back
the tears. “I hate to think what could have happened.”
          What could have happened? I could be sitting
at home watching life pass me by. I like working third
shift. I like being single. And I like the fact I drive a
motorcycle, very well I might add.
         “What’s Jake going to say?” Here we go again.
“Do you think he’ll want you to keep the bike? You
could sell it. You got such a great deal, you’d probably
make money on it.”
         Jake. ‘The Boyfriend’. I know Dad thinks the
bike was his idea in the first place. Actually, I’ve
wanted one for years. Jake’s a police officer and rides
himself. He taught me the basics and helped me
practice for my road test.
         “Tabby, you were lucky this time. Next time you
might not be.”
         “Dad, I wish you could understand how much
this means to me. I know it’s a risk, but it makes me feel
special. Everyone I know has their safe little cars and
their safe little jobs and their safe little families. I know
a motorcycle isn’t the safest thing in the world, but when
I ride, I’m alive. How do you think the people who take
the ‘safe’ way every day feel.”
         “I just worry about you, Tabitha. I’m your dad.
That’s my job.”

          “Hey sleepy head, how are you feeling?” I
blinked my eyes as they adjusted the light in the
hospital room. “The operation went great.” A nurse
reached for my good wrist to take my pulse. “Your
dad’s here, wants to see you as soon as you’re ready. I
can tell he really loves you.”