I Worry Therefore I Am

A source of parental worry

You're never too old to get a little well-meaning parental advice.  This from my 90-year-old dad, during our visit yesterday:  "Honey, can you walk in those shoes?" He's concerned about my flat espadrilles.   "I seem to be doing okay in them," I say, and proceed to pretend-trip over a rug by the front door, with sound effects and everything.  "Whoa!  Oh, no! Help me, Daddy!"  "Sure, make fun," he says, "but I'm worried about those shoes."  "I can see that."  "I don't trust them."  "You should."  "I don't."  "You feel strongly about it, do you?"  "Very much so."  "How can I help?"  "You can be careful walking down the stairs."  "I shall," I say, suddenly British.  Accent or not, I can tell by the way he's looking at me, he's not convinced.  The likelihood that I can navigate the journey safely  plagues him.  "Call me when you get downstairs."  "Okay, Daddy."  "And don't text the boys while you're doing it."  "Absolutely not."  Now I lean in and give him a big kiss.  "Love you, Daddy."  "Love you.  Get rid of those shoes."  "No.  I like them."  As I close the door, I go into a whole, "I've fallen and I can't get up" routine.  He's laughing.  But on the inside?  Very worried.  A minute later, I call him.  "This is your daughter.  I've made it safely to the car without tripping or breaking any bones."  "Good, now drive home and call me when you get there."  "Will do, Daddy-O."  As I drive off, I realize that in my family, to worry is to love.  This is my heritage. This is how I earned my degree in Advanced Fretology.  I Worry Therefore I Am, just like those before me.  If I didn't worry, I wouldn't be me.  And like Sammy D. sang, way back when, "What else can I be but what I am?"  Good question.  Here's my suggestion box.  All ideas welcome.