Personal Narrative: My Dad

I have only seen my father cry once, and that statement still holds true, but on January 10, 2014, I nearly saw it happen again. My dad had broken both wrists and was waiting for my mom to take him to the hospital. My family had to help my dad with even the simplest tasks in the days to come. During the next two weeks, my family would come to know how much can change in an instant, the importance of each other, and the meaning of “freak accident”. January 10th started out like any other Friday night. My mom and I were watching television, my dad was in the garage, and my brother was playing videogames, after coming into the house once he got bored in the garage. We had just gotten a new garage built, and my dad was working on finishing the

That’s weird,” I remember my mom saying to me. She almost did not answer it, but I am glad she decided not to ignore the call. As I heard my dad’s muffled voice through the phone, I realized something was wrong. My mom stood up, the phone still to her ear. I followed as she started walking up the stairs to the main floor. She put the phone down and told me that my dad was stuck in the garage, and that he thought something was wrong with his wrist. My mom rushed out to the garage, but I stayed in the house. I sat down on the landing of the upper flight of stairs and waited, staring at the door. My mom and dad came in after what seemed like an eternity. My mom was telling my dad what to do in a gentle voice. It was incredible to me how calm she remained. He had three sweatshirts on, and they were going to have to take them off. If he did not get them off then, they would have to be cut off at the hospital. I was standing on the landing at this point, not wanting to get in the way, but also not wanting to leave. My dad got the sweatshirts over his head easily, but his arms were starting to swell. There would be no way to avoid extra pain. I winced as my mom pulled the sleeves off his