I wiped the ham sandwich crumbs off my face and gave your dad the best "I'm sorry but I can't help myself" face. We made our way to the hospital lobby and decided where to begin our treck.
"Let's walk up those stairs and around the second floor, then we can come back down and walk down the halls." Your dad nodded his weary head and off we went.
Suddenly a lightbulb went off in your dad's head that sent a surge of energy through him. He turned to me and said, "Do you think we have time to get my truck washed."
"What?" I was not amused.
"I bet we have time. They told you to come back in two hours and that's plenty of time to find a carwash, get the truck cleaned up, and be back here."
"I don't think that's what they meant." I said. "I don't think they meant ride around in a truck, go through a car wash, and poof your baby's ready to come out."
Your dad couldn't hide his disappointment.
And that's when I realized what this was really all about.
Ham, it wasn't about which parking spot the truck was parked in, whether it was parked perfectly straight and it wasn't about how spic and span the truck was either.
It was about you.
Your dad was worried about what you might think of him if his truck wasn't in a prime spot, was dirty and parked crooked.
No son of your dad's was going to go home from the hospital in a situation like that.
This, Hammy, is only one of the reasons why you have such a great dad.
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