Note: I wrote this post over a year ago.

After you read it, you’ll understand why I never got around to publishing it!

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“While you’re here, we have to fix the home phone,” my Dad said as he was driving me from JFK airport to my parents’ house.

“What’s wrong with the home phone?” I ask.

“It rings, but we can’t answer it.” 

“I’m going to have to start a list,” I say. We were only twenty miles into the hundred-mile drive and this was the fourth thing my Dad had asked me to do for him. I was only in town for two weeks. And he has four other children that live much closer to him. So why these things need to be done when I visit from Spain is still a mystery to me. Maybe he wants me to feel needed. 

I open the Notes app on my phone. 

“Party list,” I write. Dad and Mom are planning their 50th anniversary party. “Mom is working on the guest list,” Dad told me. So why my help is needed, I’m not sure. Note to self: confer with mom.

“Price lists.” I update the price lists for Dad’s Dairy Queens every year. Or more frequently if the minimum wage rises, the cost of goods rises, etc. All of my siblings are at least as good with computers as I am. Yet over the last 15 years, this has been my job. 

Dad’s phone pings. “See who that is,” he says. I pick up his cell phone from the center cup holder. “Oh my God! When is the last time you cleaned your phone screen?!l” I add it to the list. “You know, you can just tell the car to read your text messages to you.”

“You can?! How do you do that?” 

“You just say, ‘Siri, read my text messages.’ And if your car is hooked up to Bluetooth, she’ll read them through the speakers.”

“Oh. You gotta do that, too. Set up our phones in this car. And your mother’s car. You can set mine up right now, can’t you?”

“Uh, no. Not while you’re driving.” I add it to the list. 

I look over at Dad. “By the way, was that shirt that dirty when you put it on this morning?”

“What? It’s a work shirt!” I notice he didn’t answer the question. 

“Look at your wrist! That cuff is so worn out!”

He looks down. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I’m sure you have better shirts you can wear,” I say. 

“Yeah, I guess I need to throw this one out.” 

Oh, good, I think. One down. Five hundred to go. 

“Are those your new glasses?” I ask, recalling that Dad broke his when he visited me in Spain last month. 

“No. These are old ones. I gotta order new ones. I have the prescription. Maybe you can order them online while you’re home.” 

I pause.

I wonder if I should stop making conversation with him.

Lest I add another 15 things to the list.