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t made me feel like an

invader in my own territory。

He rolled over and kind of groaned; then curled up tighter under his skinny little quilt and

muttered some pretty unfriendly…sounding stuff into his

pillow。

I beat it into the kitchen and poured myself a killer bowl of corn flakes。 And I was about to

drown it in milk when my mother es waltzing in and

snags it away from me。 “You are going to wait; young man;” she says。 “This family is going to

have Sunday breakfast together。”

“But I'm starving!”

“So are the rest of us。 Now go! I'm making pancakes; and you're taking a shower。 Go!”

Like a shower's going to prevent imminent starvation。

But I headed down to the bathroom; and on my way I noticed that the family room was empty。

The quilt was folded and back on the armrest; the

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pillow was gone…it was like I'd imagined the whole thing。

At breakfast my father didn't look like he'd spent the night on the couch。 No bags under his

eyes; no whiskers on his chin。 He was decked out in

tennis shorts and a lavender polo shirt; and his hair was all blown dry like it was a workday。

Personally I thought the shirt looked kind of girly; but my

mom said; “You look very nice this morning; Rick。”

My father just eyed her suspiciously。

Then my grandfather came in; saying; “Patsy; the house smells wonderful! Good morning;

Rick。 Hi

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