ManicDDaily

A parent is always a parent.

I am visiting mine at the moment.

I tell my Dad late in the afternoon that I’m going for a walk on the beach.  ( It is approximately two blocks away from my parents’ house.)   His eyes widen in alarm.

“I’m just going for a little bit,” I say.

He looks panicked.

“I need some air,” I protest.  “Some exercise.”

“Wouldn’t you rather stay here?” he pleads.

“It’s perfectly light out.  No one’s going to attack me.”

He shudders at the voicing of his fears.

This is a quiet prosperous beach town.  On a barrier island.  There are only two bridges.  A difficult place for violent crime.

“How about if you take Mama with you?”

She’s in her late eighties, and never leaves his side.   He really is not well enough to be left for very long.

“You think she’d be able to protect me?” I ask.

He scowls.  “But at least there’d be two of you.”

“It’s not like she’s going into the ocean,” my mom adds in support of my expedition.

He scowls more.

I don’t say anything further, since I sometimes do (heaven forbid) go in the ocean.   (Though nearsightedness and a kind of fear that has eventually rubbed off on me keeps me from going out far.)

Finally, with the promise that I will walk on the beach but only as far as a nearby restaurant he likes to get a special dish he likes, I go.

I move with some speed.  Still, by the time I get back to their block, I see my mom out on the front lawn looking for me; my father, with his walker, his face pained, in the doorway.

Agh.

“I made it,” I say softly.