Time Waits for No One
I never saw my father home from work late or ill, nor did I ever see my father take a night out with the boys.
He had no hobbies, other than taking care of his family .
For 22 years, since I left home for college, my father called me every Sunday at 9:00 am.
He was always interested in my life, how my family was doing, and I never once heard him lament about his lot in life.
The calls even came when he and my mother were in Australia, England or Florida.
Nine years ago when I bought my first house, my father, 67 years old, spent eight hours a day for three days painting my house .
He would not allow me to pay someone to have it done. All he asked, was a glass of iced tea, and that I hold a paintbrush for him and talk to him. But I was too busy, for I had a law practice to run, and i could not take the time to hold the paintbrush, or talk to my father.
Five years ago, my 71-year-old father spent five hours putting together a swing set for my daughter.
Again, all he asked was that i get him a glass of iced tea, and talk to him. But again I had laundry to do, and the house to clean .
The morning on Sunday, January 16，1995，my father telephoned me as usual. This time he had seemed to have forgotten some things we had discussed the week before. I had to get to church, and i cut the conversation short.
The call came at 4:40 am. That day my father was sent to hospital in Florida. I got on a plane immediately, and I owed that when i arrived, i would make up for the lost time, and have a nice long talk with him and really get to know him.
I arrived in Florida at 1:00 am, but my father had passed away at 9:12 pm. This time it was he who did not have time to talk, or time to wait for me. In the years since his death I have learnt much about my father and even more about every single day.
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