Don't Pick Up That Phone!

He bit someone. My father bit someone. The man known throughout his professional life as "creampuff bob" bit an aide on the arm. It was an unprovoked bite; he wasn't angry or defensive. Like a shark nibbling on bait, he simply sank his teeth into any arm that presented itself. The aide was taken to the clinic and my father was given a sedative.

The nursing home is required to report violent behavior, so my phone rang soon after nine. "Your father had an event," the nurse started. An event. That's what they call everything. Like they're having a party or something. I wish they didn't call me. I wish I didn't know anything. I prefer my original perception of my father. I prefer thinking about him as funny and inspiring, thought-provoking, challenging and intellectual and witty. I am trying so hard to remember him like that. But then, the phone rings.