I pulled out my phone and brought up my contact list, intending to call a customer about something. Yet instead of scrolling down the list, I must have put my finger down too hard on the phone's surface. My daughter's number, being the first listed as her name is Abby, came up on the screen. It was clear I was calling her, this at about 11 o'clock yesterday morning.
This would scare her, I knew, because Dads don't call, especially on weekday mornings. So if Dad is calling, something awful has happened; that would be her immediate reasoning.
Hang up, hang up, hang up, my brain frantically implored. But hanging up would be worse because it would show that something really is wrong, and she would only, rightly, call back the moment she saw I had tried to 'call' her. I let it ring.
"Hello?" she answered. I could hear the panic, sense the fear and obvious concern in that one small word. I felt bad.
"Hello sweetheart! You can just disregard this call, I made it accidentally. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm so sorry."
"That's okay Daddy. But you did scare me. A little," she replied. We said love you to each other and hung up, for me to make the call I actually meant to make.
For the record, my daughter and I get along well. We text regularly, and share things to each other's facebook pages like normal friends and family. We just rarely talk on the phone at my instigation because, well, Dads don't call. Unless something's wrong.
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