Yesterday, I spoke on the phone with my dad. We briefly talked about the quarantine and these unsettling times.

He mentioned my sister told him about a text message, which I sent to her and mom earlier this week. In the message, I complained about the many bare shelves at my local grocery store, which, because I live in a city, is small. As a result of the text message, my dad asked how I was doing with groceries and whether I needed him to drive me to a supermarket in the ’burbs to stock up. Context: I do not own a car and rarely drive due to loss of vision in my right eye.

The offer was remarkable in consideration of my dad’s underlying health issues. He has heart disease. Seemingly, each year, he battles a bout of bronchitis or other respiratory maladies. Yet, despite the grave risk of contracting COVID-19 from me, if I have coronavirus and am not symptomatic, or from a different source, my dad did not hesitate to offer to drive his 41-year-old son to a grocery store.

After thanking him, I declined his offer, explaining that his risk of exposure to coronavirus was not worth the trip; that I have sufficient grub to last me through the next handful of days. Before he hung up, my dad said, ”If you need anything, I want you to know that you can call me.”

Wow.
My dad and I have a good relationship. We mostly chat about baseball or other sports, though we’ll sometimes talk about my work or his health. Unfortunately, because he is not tech-savvy — he doesn’t text and has never used a computer — he will not read this post. Before I hung up the phone, I should have told my dad how awesome he is and how much I admire him. Though I wish I would have, I didn’t dare to say, ”I love you, dad.”