u/Suspicious-Grape-458

Okay, plumbers of Reddit, can anyone tell me what's going on with my toilet and how I can fix it?

About two months ago, it started making a noise several times a day that sounded like water was running or moving through the toilet. It wasn't a full flush - just a brief sound like water was flowing. I knew I should look into it, but life got busy and it kept getting pushed to the bottom of my to-do list.

Then yesterday it started making a high-pitched squealing noise every time it's flushed. I'm assuming the two issues are related and hoping it's a relatively simple fix.

Has anyone dealt with this before or know what might be causing it? Any advice would be greatly appreciated!

It’s been probably 30 years since I last played this but tonight I’m reliving my childhood thanks to a Father’s Day gift from my daughter. Hopefully it lives up to the memories!

It’s been a long, hard, emotional day.

Took this picture early in the morning, through a window using an iPhone.

I've had this story idea floating around in my head for a couple of years and finally decided to start putting something down on paper. I've attached the first two chapters and would really appreciate any feedback anyone is willing to give. I'll include a brief synopsis in the comments just to give an idea of where the story is headed if I continue with it.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jw33iwEFZhFaB72jCbOEWBqnNy7d2N2f/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=105222453553968878127&rtpof=true&sd=true

To celebrate Father’s Day this year please allow me to tell you something about my Dad. It’s a little something. A simple something.

When I was young I badly burned my hands. Between the ages of two up until my mid-teens I spent a fair amount of time in hospital having numerous surgeries and procedures. The older I got the easier it was to be away from my family, but as a younger child it was hard. I hated being in hospital alone. Being a kid in hospital is the worst. It’s long, and lonely, and scary.

My parents, and often my brothers and sister, sometimes even an aunt or uncle, would visit every night, but visiting hours only last so long and every night there would come a time when they had to leave.

I’d walk them through the ward to the elevators, get hugs and kisses, and wait for the doors to slide closed. Then I’d take off, running back to my room and to the window, to watch them cross the parking lot to our car.

My Dad always took the time to look up and find me in the window. He always found me. And he’d wave.

Then he’d get in the car, put it in gear, and pull off. Before he got too far, though, his hand would appear out the window, still waving. The road out of the parking lot was long and he’d wave the entire way, and I watched him go, until he was out of sight.

Thing is, these days sometimes I leave the house earlier than my everyone else. On those mornings my daughter comes out to our front porch before I go. Our house is perched on a hill and from a certain point on our porch you can almost see to the end of our road.

She stands there and waves as I drive off, and I wave back, hand stretched out the window until I know she can’t possibly see me anymore.

What’s funny is that all those nights over all those years I never realized that my Dad wasn’t just waving for me.

He was waving for himself, too.

I always saw it from the perspective of a sad child being left behind. I never thought about it from the perspective of a sad dad leaving.

My Dad did a lot for me, but nothing more important than teaching me how to be one.

He was my Father, my best friend, the best man at my wedding, and I miss him.

Happy Father’s Day.