"Hi, Dad," I said, "I wanted to say thank you."

"For what?" he asked, his voice fuzzy, stroke-addled.

"For teaching me to drive in the snow. Well, for telling me what to do when snow happened." I could almost hear his childlike smile starting.

"You mean I did something right, huh?" He likes to play this game. Or maybe it's not a game; he's been an insecure person as long as I've known him, and that's going on 40 years. (Okay, 38 years; I don't really have memories of anything from before I was two years old.)

"Yup, you did. I had some tough choices to make. I made it up the curves from my house this morning, because I decided to drive early, before other people had packed it down," I reported.

"That's right, better traction on loose snow," my dad offered in his low murmuring voice, his commenting voice.

I went on. "Then coming home, I had to figure out how to get to my place. Cove Road was out, because the curves would have iced over, and then I heard it was closed. We lost someone today, Doc Westley, probably got hit by one of those yahoos I saw driving 40 miles an hour over the ice. My friend's brother was on the aid call."

"You lost someone? That's too bad." I heard the 25 years of volunteer firefighter in his voice, as he cast his memory back over the many calls he'd been on where his only duty was to wash down the gasoline and blood on the street.

"Yeah, he's the guy with the draft horses who brings them to every island event, every Festival. I teach with his daughter-in-law, or I did when she was still teaching, before the baby came."

I thought of other things he'd want to know, other things he could feel good that his finally competent eldest child had done. Oh yes.

"So I had to take Cemetery Road home, and there are some big hills, but they're straight. Then I came north past the dump, then down the Westside Highway curves. They aren't so steep, and they aren't banked so much as the Cove curves. So I got home just fine. I parked at the top of my beach road so I could get out if it stayed icy in the morning," I told him.

He breathed in. "That's good planning. You gotta go to work tomorrow?" he asked.

"Probably. We'll start late, but we still get to count the day, and then I'm going over to the Cajun's house. So it'll be a good day, anyway." I paused for a second. "But hey, Dad, I just wanted to let you know that I used what you taught me and I got home safe."

"Well, that's great," he said, earnestly. "You take 'er easy, and here's your mom." He handed off to my Tiny Mom (tm) and I talked with her awhile.

---

I need him to know I listened. I need his approval now, to make up for all the times I didn't have it before. I know he's old, weak, tired, and essentially powerless, but maybe that's exactly why I can find the grace to be humble with him. He's not pushing my rebellion buttons anymore, or taunting me with "Elsa wants, Elsa gets". He's not spanking me for simply doing things in a way he wouldn't. He's an old man in a recliner, incontinent, drowsy, and doughy.

And I love him.