My Dad And The First-Responders
byby Stan Grimes

Most of you have seen the commercial in which the little old lady falls down and says, “Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t reach my phone.” It advertises a first-alert device that is worn around the neck or wrist and if activated, pushing a large button, it notifies local police, ambulance, health staff, and the Avon lady. It’s a great idea for shut-ins, senior citizens living alone, and for dogs with extremely talented paws.

My ninety-two year old stepfather wears one on his wrist. It has a big red button on it. If he misses that sucker his eyes are worse than I think. The story now begins.

I’m lying in my cozy little bed one steamy Indiana night, the phone rings. It draws me out of a nice dream (Meg Ryan was involved, I think). By the time I got to the phone the answering machine kicks in. It’s a heavy metallic voice echoing into a microphone, “This is the local police authority. If you are related to Harold Doe and have keys to his home, please meet the police as soon as possible to allow them into his house.” I thought “Oh man, this is the one; this is the one we’ve (his family) dreaded.” I quickly threw on some clothes and fumbled around looking for the keys to his place (it’s one o’clock in the morning mind you).

I jump into my truck and skid tires heading for dad’s place. By the time I got there an ambulance, a fire first responder truck, and three police cars were there. It looked like a drug bust. Flashlights shining in my face, the police approached me. “You his son?” “Yep.” I said nervously. “Mind letting us in?” “Sure.” I said, hoping not to see what I thought we would see. There was about ten of us walking into my dad’s small bungalow. We crept into his bedroom (my dad couldn’t hear a freight train if it ran by his bed), no movement. The police shined their flashlights into his face. Harold jumped out of bed like a chicken out of skillet, “What the hell is going on here?” He hollered. Not only was dad alive he was scared “….less.” His eyes were the size of saucers and his pupils were glazed with total shock. He repeated his question to the police. They told him to try to calm down. That’s like telling a bronco to calm down when some fool cowboy gets on his back in the pen and ten thousand people are watching. Eventually, they were able to get him calm down and explained the whole situation to him.

As it turns out, dad accidentally bumped his big red button on the headboard of the bed. Dang, he had to be scared. I can’t imagine the entire rescue team of our hometown squeezed into my house thinking they’re going to see a corpse. I think I need one of those wrist thingys in case I fall and can’t reach my beer during the Super Bowl this year. I’ll give them a call now. I wonder if they take Visa?

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http://stansplace.4t.com
Stan Grimes