This is my version of a story my Uncle Dan tells:
The old man sat in the garage when he didn’t want to be around his wife. Which was always. When my Uncle Dan was a kid, he would help out around the house, doing odd jobs, picking up heavy-ish things. Primarily it was a chance for his mom to get him out of her hair under the thin pretense of Christian charity. So he was sent across the street, more out of convenience and guilt than for any practical purpose.
One afternoon he was in the kitchen, helping the old lady wash and dry dishes after baking. Once everything was toweled and put away, she cut a slice of pie from the tin, plated it with a fork, and asked Uncle Dan to take it out to the old man. He was in the garage, as usual. Continue reading