Home Depot! Home Depot!

Yesterday afternoon, I rode with my mom to her bank, where we were meeting my sister Emily. We had an appointment to sign paperwork so that Emily and I could have access to Mom's safety deposit box.

"Where's your father?" Mom asked. "He was supposed to go to the bank with us."

"I don't know," I answered absently, but then I remembered what Dad had said to me after a sweaty hug when we passed each other in the doorway. "Oh, wait.... He said something about working on some lady's plumbing."

"Oh, he's at Lupita's, then," she said, drawing in an exasperated breath.

"Isn't it too hot for him to be working outside?" I asked. "They said on the radio that it's over a hundred degrees today [38 degrees Celsius]."

"Yes, it is too hot," Mom agreed. "That's why I made him promise to do the work in the morning. But obviously he didn't keep his promise. Every time those ladies call, he runs right over."

I raised an eyebrow.

"He wants the money," Mom went on. "I told him maybe I'll have to start giving him money so he'll stay home now and then."

Just then, Mom's phone rang over the car speaker, and I saw Dad's name on the dashboard display. Apparently his ears must have been burning.


Mom touched Accept, and Dad's anxious voice filled the car. "Where are you?" he asked.

Since Mom was driving, I took it upon myself to do the talking even though the call automatically went to the speakers. "This is Sarah, Dad," I shouted. "Mom is driving."

"Where are you?" he repeated.

"We're driving!" I yelled, leaning closer to the dashboard even though I had no idea where the microphone might be. "We're going to the bank."

"I'm at the Home Depot," he said, not acknowledging the information I'd just given him. "My truck won't start. Can you come pick me up?"

"Well, we're-"

"No!" Mom yelled. "We're on the way to the bank. We have an appointment."

"I'm at Home Depot," Dad repeated. "Home Depot."

"He must not be wearing his hearing aids," Mom said.

"We can't pick you up yet," I yelled at the dashboard. "We can come get you after we go to the bank."

"We'll call you back," Mom yelled. She touched the Disconnect icon.

"Mom, we have to go get him," I said. "It's too hot outside. And he couldn't hear us."

"We can't. We'll be late. And Emily is meeting us there."

"But-"

Just then the phone rang again.

"I'm at the Home Depot," Dad hollered over the speaker. "My truck won't start."

"We can't get you right now," Mom yelled.

"I'm at the Home Depot. Can you come get me? I'll be at the main entrance," he pleaded.

Both Mom and I leaned in toward the dash. "No!" We shouted.

"We'll call you later," I yelled, and then Mom hung up on him.

"Where's your phone?" I asked. "Maybe he'll be able to hear me if I speak directly into it."

"I doubt it," Mom answered, but she dug her phone out of her purse and handed it to me.

The moment I hit Dial, I realized this was not going to work. Of course, the Bluetooth activated, and the phone went on speaker again.

"Hello?" Dad shouted. "Hello?"

"We'll call you back. Just a minute," I yelled.

"Hello? I can't hear you."

"We'll call back!" With a stab of guilt, I hit the red phone icon to end the call.

"Can't someone else pick him up?" I asked, thinking aloud. "Maybe Emily?"

"No, Emily's going to the bank with us."

"What about Hillary?" I asked.

"If she's not working."

I dialed Hillary on my own phone just as the car speakers started ringing again.

"Hello, Hillary. Are you working now?"

"Hi, Aunt Sarah. No, I'm not working."

I cupped a hand over my ear to block out Mom's shouts about not being able to pick Dad up right now.

"Grandpa's stranded at Home Depot," I began.

"Home Depot! I'm at Home Depot," said the car speakers. I laughed.

"Grandma and I have to go to the bank. Can you pick him up?"

"Sure," she said.

"Home Depot!" Dad yelled.

"Look for him at the main entrance," I said. "Thank you, thank you!"

Mom, Hillary, Dad - 2015

After I'd hung up with Hillary, I shouted, "Dad, Hillary is coming to get you."

"I'm at Home Depot. Can you come get me?"

"No, Hillary's coming."

"I'm going back inside," he hollered. "I can't seem to get through to you out here."

"Dad, we're right-"

This time, he was the one who'd disconnected.

I turned to Mom. "Poor Dad. He has no idea what's going on. I'm going to try to call Home Depot. Maybe we can get a message to him."

I looked up the number on my phone, dialed, and punched zero to skip past the automated prompts.

"Hello, thank you for calling Home Depot. Do you know your party's extension?" asked a brisk female voice.

"Well, I..." I paused a moment, unsure how to begin this conversation. "Um, I think my elderly father is at your main entrance. His truck broke down, and he can't hear us on his phone. Would it be possible for someone to give him a message?"

"Well...." She hesitated, too. "I may be able to... What does he look like?"

I pressed my lips together while I pondered my answer. The only words that came to mind just then were "old" and "bald." But that sounded too harsh, somehow. "He's... 87 years old. And he's very hard-of-hearing."

"Just a moment," she said. "Oh, I think I see him. Is he wearing a gray shirt?"

"Um, he's-"

The car's speakers rang shrilly, and Mom touched Decline.

"He's-"

The phone rang again, and Mom giggled as she touched Decline again. I wondered just how much prior experience she'd had in hanging up on her husband.

"I think that's him," the lady said. "What's the message?"

"Please tell him that his granddaughter Hillary is coming to pick him up."

"His granddaughter?"

"Yes, his granddaughter Hillary. Thank you so much!"

Dad must have understood our message because Mom's phone was blessedly silent.

"We need to teach Dad to text," I said. "Then he won't need to hear."

When we met Dad back at their house an hour or so later, Mom relayed my suggestion.

"How am I going to text if I can't spell?" he countered.

"You just have to spell as best you can," Mom said.

I gave him a kiss and got another sweaty hug. "Don't be working outside when it's over 100 degrees," I scolded. "You'll get a heat stroke."

"I was working in the shade," he protested.

"Just be careful," I said.

On the way home, I thought about how blessed we are that Dad is still able to mow and do odd jobs nine years after his esophagectomy. God is so good.