The sluggard says, "There is a lion outside! or, "I will be murdered in the streets!" (Proverbs 22:13).

"C'mon, Dad.  Don't you think you should get up and get out the house sometimes?"  The smell in the house was musty and stagnant.  The living room was dark, with the curtains shut against the daylight beyond.  But my father did not budge.  Now in his 70s, living alone since Mom died eight years ago, he spent most of his time in his armchair, watching television.

"No.  I don't want to get out.  Last time I went out on that sidewalk, I nearly broke my ankle!" my father barked out, apparently bothered to be stirred in any way.

"But Dad," I pleaded, "we fixed the sidewalk, remember?"  Me and Jill weeded it and replaced a couple of the pavers that were broken.  "The sidewalk is as good as new!  And look," I pushed the curtains to the large front windows aside.  "It's a beautiful summer day."  Outside, the trees were green and full.  Children played on bicycles and skateboards, out on the quiet residential street.

"Did you not hear me?"  The volume of my father's voice increased by 20 percent.  "I don't want to get out!  This city isn't anything like what it used to be.  There's all those gangs and guns and violence.  I don't want to go out there and get killed!"

I had to stifle a laugh at this remark.  It was true that Cleveland had seen better days, back when my father was younger, when the Steel Belt had not yet started rusting.  But the neighborhood was far from a ghetto.  Most of the area residents worked respectable 9-5 kind of jobs, playing baseball with their kids in the evenings, mowing their lawns on the weekend.  It was actually a pretty nice place to live, in my opinion.  Still, I tempered my response to Dad's criticisms:  "I'll go out with you, Dad.  We can take a walk together.  I'll make sure that nothing bad happens to you."  I turned from the window and faced my father's armchair.  "Please, Dad.  I think it'll be good for you."

"Nope.  I don't want to get out today.  Why don't you come back tomorrow?  They're forecasting rain for this afternoon, you know, and I don't want to get wet and catch pneumonia."  It was 10:30 in the morning.  The skies were blue, with fluffy white clouds very widely scattered.  But I could see that there was no reasoning with my father.  Even though he'd been a hard worker at the paper factory for almost 40 years, he had developed a lazy streak since Mom died.  He had once been bold and brash -- afraid of nothing -- willing to step in front of a train to protect the ones that he loved.  But he seemed to have lost the will to fight.  He didn't want to do anything anymore, except for watch horrible infomercials and reruns of the Andy Griffith Show on television, only shuffling reluctantly to the grocery store once a week for food supplies.  This was not the father I had grown up with, but he was still my father.

"All right, Dad.  I'll come back tomorrow."  I picked up my car keys from the kitchen counter.  "Are you sure you don't need anything else between now and then?"

"Nope."  He pointed the remote control at the television and increased the volume as I headed for the exit.  "Hey, actually, wouldya make sure to lock the deadbolt after you leave, too?  I'd hate to have one of the punk kids in the neighborhood try to get some funny ideas about picking on an old man like me."

"Sure, Dad, I can do that."  As I left, I locked both locks dutifully and then jogged out to my car.  It felt like one of the last really bright summer days of the year, just before the air turned cooler and the leaves started falling from the trees.  My father was too sad, or too scared, or too lazy to do anything about it, but I was going to make the most of it.