A rush of adrenaline and fear rushed through my body when I read the text, “You up?...got bit by dang snake nhd aving troubled driving much furrher.”
I was headed to work and I had just passed the Bristow exit on the Turner Turnpike when I get this text from my adoptive dad saying he was bit by a snake.
My mind was immediately racing.
I was at least 17 miles before the next exit to turn around and head back home.
Plus I had no idea where he could possibly be.
And the text message was written poorly, making me wonder if the venom had already started taking a toll.
My dad had came down to visit me in Oklahoma, his dad in Kansas and a friend in Missouri.
He told me he was going to go cave diving in Missouri and find a place to camp for the night.
I had no clue where he could possibly be. Or what kind of snake could have bitten him.
Was it a Copperhead?
Cottonmouth?
Rattlesnake?
I turned around in Stroud and headed back to Tulsa as fast as I could.
Every attempt to call him resulted in listening to his voicemail.
As the miles flew by and the silence grew, I was starting to panic.
I had just passed the Sapulpa exit when I get another text from my dad saying he was “just joking” and that he was at my apartment.
A flash of relief was quickly replaced by anger and frustration.
My dad grew up in Colorado and has always had a strange affinity towards snakes.
I remember growing up he was always holding snakes that he would catch while we were hiking or camping.
Most men enjoy hunting ducks or deer, but my father enjoyed hunting snakes.
Part of me felt like I should have seen this joke coming and the other part of me figured his love for those vermin finally backfired on him.
Although I was frustrated with him, we were able to have a nice breakfast together before he flew home.
Now I just need to come up with a “joke” of my own...