Tag Archives: Dad

A Doorbell Camera and a Second Chance With My Dad

12 Thursday Feb 2026

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A sunset through the windshield of my truck on my way home from installing the doorbell camera.

Today I had the privilege of spending most of the afternoon with my parents. Both of them are in their mid-eighties and, overall, are doing well. Mom has some health issues and deals with a lot of pain from arthritis and scoliosis. A woman who once stood nearly six feet tall is now just over five feet because she’s so hunched over. Dad is also hunched over some, but not from scoliosis — it’s from injuries sustained in a head-on collision they were both involved in back in 2016. I count it as a blessing every day that they are both still here after that accident.

Dad’s tremors are so bad now that he can’t sign his name anymore. If legal documents need to be signed, he either has me sign for him or uses a rubber stamp with his signature on it. He still eats with regular utensils, but you can tell it’s a struggle.

He called me last week because he bought a doorbell camera and needed help installing it. Today was the first day I’ve had without doctor appointments or other commitments that were hard to move on short notice.

My parents live about 45 minutes away. It’s really not that far, and honestly, I should visit more often — especially now.

When I got there, Dad was outside trying to remove the old doorbell. He was struggling because he didn’t have the right size screwdriver, and with his tremors… well, even with the right tool, it would have been tough.

After I got the old one off, we went inside, and he handed me the unopened box with the new camera. He told me it was supposed to use the existing doorbell wiring for power. I kept that in mind while reading the manual.

The problem was that nowhere in the manual did it mention using the existing wiring. What I was reading and what this 86-year-old man was telling me were two completely different things.

Let me pause and tell you something about my dad. He is never wrong. Or maybe more accurately… he never admits to being wrong. And he really doesn’t like being told he is. So installing this camera took a lot longer than it should have, mostly because I had to carefully explain that what he thought and what the manual said were not the same thing — without actually saying, “Dad, you’re wrong.”

I have a Ring doorbell at my house. Installing mine took about 30 minutes total — removing the old one, installing the new one, connecting Wi-Fi, and setting up the app. Thirty minutes, tops.

Today? It took from 11:30 AM until just after 4 PM to install the doorbell, set up and configure the app, connect the monitor to Wi-Fi, mount the monitor on the wall, and then teach Dad how to use everything. Between learning the system myself and teaching him step by step, it was a process.

I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed it took that long… or proud I got it done that fast, considering everything involved.

Growing up, Dad and I didn’t get along very well. The older I got, the worse it seemed to get. We were both hard-headed, both quick-tempered, and we yelled a lot. I never felt like I could please him. We fought often, and honestly, I was glad when the day came that I could move out.

But now I’m older. I have kids of my own. I’ve lived some life. And our relationship is better than it’s ever been.

I’m the oldest of four — two younger brothers and a baby sister. I don’t live the closest, but I’m probably the most mechanically inclined. I can turn a wrench. The others are more keyboard-and-screen guys. So when something physical or mechanical needs to be done, I usually get the call.

And honestly? I don’t mind anymore.

It gives me time with them. Real-time. Time I know is limited. It feels like I’ve been given a second chance with my dad.

It’s still not always easy. Telling him he’s wrong without telling him he’s wrong is an art form that requires patience and diplomacy.

When I left today, the doorbell was working, the monitor was mounted, and both he and Mom were thankful I came. As I was walking out, Dad said he didn’t think he could have done it himself because it was more complicated than he expected.

And truthfully, some of these modern devices are just more complicated than they need to be.

But today wasn’t really about installing a doorbell camera.

It was about time.
It was about patience.
It was about grace.

Because one day, there will be no phone call asking for help installing something.
One day, there will be no slow walk to the door to greet me.
One day, there will be no tremor-shaken hands trying to turn a screwdriver.

And when that day comes, I won’t remember how long it took to install that camera.
I’ll remember standing next to my dad.
I’ll remember my mom sitting nearby, hurting but smiling.
I’ll remember being needed.

If you’re lucky enough to still have your parents here, go see them.
Take the phone call.
Fix the thing.
Explain the manual.
Be patient.

Because sometimes second chances don’t come as big life moments.

Sometimes they show up as a five-hour doorbell installation on a random afternoon…
And you don’t realize how important it was until you’re driving home.

The Uninvited Tenant in the Wall

04 Wednesday Feb 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Nature, Uncategorized

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About two weeks ago, one of my daughters called and told me she was hearing something in their walls. Not normal apartment noise. Not pipes. Not neighbors.

Scratching.

The kind of scratching that makes you immediately start wondering if renters insurance covers emotional trauma.

She wanted me to tell her what it was. Now, I had a pretty good idea, but knowing that even saying the words rat or mouse would send both of them into Olympic-level panic, I had to choose my words carefully… like I was negotiating with hostage takers.

Now hear me out — this gets a little technical.

If I’m not wrong, most walls are built eight feet tall using 2x4s spaced 16 inches on center. That means the inside cavity space is about 14½ inches by 3½ inches. That’s not exactly a penthouse suite. That’s more like “micro-living for something small, furry, and highly motivated.”

And if you’re hearing scratching in a space like that, chances are something is using its teeth to dig into the gypsum wallboard to gain access to either your apartment… or your neighbor’s.

And of course — and this is no coincidence — this was the closet where they store their food and snacks.

Because if you’re a wall creature, you don’t break into the linen closet. You go straight for the Doritos.

I told them to email the apartment office and create a maintenance ticket. The problem was, this was late on a Friday night. And everybody knows maintenance emails sent after 5 PM on Friday go straight into what I call the “See You Monday” folder.

Unless you call the emergency number.

Now, being two women who are convinced anything smaller than a deck of cards is capable of crawling into their apartment, creating chaos, and starring in a true crime documentary about them… they called the emergency number.

Voicemail.

They left a message… and then sat there waiting for a reply like they were waiting on lab results.

At this point, every sound in that apartment was suspicious.
Refrigerator kicked on? Suspicious.
AC made a noise? Definitely suspicious.
Ice maker dropped ice? Obviously the wall creature testing structural weaknesses.

Sometime Saturday, management finally called — only to say pest control would come Monday. After what I can only imagine was a spirited discussion, management agreed to call the maintenance man.

Moments later, their phone rang. It was the maintenance man. He had gotten the message but couldn’t help — he had been in a bad accident and was currently in the hospital.

But — and this is dedication — he said he’d call one of his buddies to check out the situation. That is the most “maintenance guy” thing I’ve ever heard. Man is in a hospital bed like, “I can’t walk, but I know a guy.”

Several days later — and after multiple calls to the apartment office — pest control finally showed up along with the maintenance buddy. Apparently coordinating schedules while my daughters believed they were under siege from a wall monster took a little time.

Now, working in maintenance for years, I learned something:
Problems disappear when maintenance shows up.

You can have water pouring from the ceiling.
You arrive.
Bone dry.
Like the house is gaslighting you.

That’s exactly what happened here.

They checked the apartment while my daughters were at work.
Heard nothing.
Saw nothing.
Probably left thinking, “These girls need hobbies.”

Then my daughters got home.

And… scratching.

One of my daughters did the smartest thing possible — she recorded the sound and emailed it to management. Nothing says “I am not imagining this” like audio of something trying to chew through Sheetrock like it’s a Nature Valley bar.

The next day, the manager, the maintenance buddy, and pest control all came back — this time with purpose. They had seen the video. They had heard the scratching. They knew something was living rent-free in that wall.

First, they drilled a small hole and inserted a camera. They saw insulation disturbed.

Then they decided to cut a hole in the wall.

And there she was.

A squirrel.

Just sitting there.

Not running.
Not panicking.
Not even mildly concerned.

Just sitting there like, “Oh good, maintenance is here. My sink has been dripping.”

Pest control removed the squirrel and released it outside where it belonged. The A-Team then spent the next several hours trying to figure out where she got in.

Whether they found the entry point or not, they did tape up the hole in the apartment. Which is good… but also feels like putting a Band-Aid on a submarine.

I’m hoping they permanently fix it soon. Preferably before the squirrel comes back with a lease agreement and three cousins.

Last night was the first night in a while that my daughters didn’t go to sleep listening to something chew in their walls.

What happened to the squirrel after that? Nobody knows.

Will she return? Hard to say.
It was her home for a little while.

But hopefully she decided apartment living is too expensive… and moved somewhere with trees, acorns, and zero humans.

365 Day Photo Challenge 287/365 “Jack of All Trades 2”

13 Tuesday Oct 2015

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I didn’t sleep much last night due to leg cramps and a low sugar episode. When I did finally get out of bed this morning I could hardly move.  That little stunt in the attic yesterday really did me in.

I took off a little early to take my daughter to a Honor Band tryout but when I got home there was a message waiting on me telling me that the tryouts had been postponed.  Instead of taking it easy and getting a nap in I took the light fixture down, drilled out the holes with my Rotor Zip tool and remounted the fixture.  No big deal.

I have been known to be called Jack of all trades master of one.  I do have my HVAC (Heating, Ventilation and Air Conditioning) licences but only after about five years of going to night school.  As far as being an electrician, I do have some training but only when it comes to HVAC.  I have to give my dad credit when it comes to all my electrical learning.  My dad was the true Jack of all trades master of all.  He can do anything from plumbing, electrical and anything else you might need him to do.  You can give hime the dimensions of a house and he can tell you how much lumber you’ll need and not have much left over.  This is not an exaggeration because I’ve seen him do it multiple times. My dad does have his Masters in the electrical field.  It took him several years to get it but he never gave up.

My dad and I worked together a lot while I was growing up.  It didn’t matter what he was working on I’d be right there with him handing him the tools of the trade.  I think that’s where I got my “knowledge” on working of different things. He was never afraid to try anything once.  I remember watching my dad work on the television when I was just a kid.  I remember him telling me not to touch this or that or I’d get a shock.  I had no idea he could work on such things but the next day the television would be fixed.  I remember telling my dad that I wanted to be just like him when i grew up.  You know what??  I did.

On a side note.  Both my parents are still alive.  They are both in their seventies and I count it a blessing everyday that I can still talk to them.  Dad taught me the tools of the trade while my mom taught me the joys of cooking, among other things.