1987.
The turkey was excellent.
The sweet potatoes had gotten a little soft during the drive.
Dad took two servings anyway.
We watched the end of the parade.
Then a football game neither of us cared much about.
Mostly we talked.
About my work crew.
About the old Silverado carburetor he was rebuilding for a neighbor.
About winter.
About whether I needed to replace the weatherstripping around his garage doors.
He never asked again what had happened.
He understood.
Later, over coffee and pie, Dad said quietly,
“You didn’t have
