Then he asked,
“Which one of those people needs to get a real job?”
Michael’s eyes filled.
For the first time, he had no answer.
I looked toward Mom.
She was carrying a plate of pancakes to an elderly couple.
She smiled as she set them down.
Then she asked whether they needed more coffee.
I wondered if she had any idea how many lives she’d touched in forty-four years.
Probably not.
People like Mom rarely keep track.
They simply show up.
Day after day.
Doing work that matters even when nobody applauds.
Michael wiped his face.
“Dad, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Walt shook his head.
“Then how did you mean it?”
Michael opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then finally whispered,
“I don’t know.”
Walt nodded.
“That’s what worries me.”
For a while, the three of us sat quietly.
Then Michael stood.
He looked toward the counter.
