Sometimes his grandchildren.
He orders breakfast from 1979 and tells the children about the man who used to sit in that booth with a seed cap and an old church coat.
He tells them their great-grandfather worked hard.
Loved his family.
And never forgot the people who helped him.
Then he tells them about Darlene.
The waitress who fed a hungry boy without making him feel ashamed.
Last month, I stopped by the café and found Mom sitting with Michael after the breakfast rush.
She was laughing at something he’d said.
The old photograph was still beside the register.
And beneath it, in a small wooden frame, were two receipts.
The first one read:
GET A REAL JOB.
The second read:
THANK YOU FOR YOUR WORK.
I looked at Mom.
“You finally framed them?”
She smiled.
“Michael’s daughter did.”
I frowned.
“Why would you want that first one where everybody can see it?”
