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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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