“We used to watch those.”
Owen sat beside him.
“I remember.”
Frank looked down at his hands.
“I wasn’t always good to you.”
Owen said nothing.
“I forget a lot now.”
Frank’s hands trembled slightly.
“But I remember some things.”
He looked at his son.
“I remember the parking lot.”
Owen
froze.
“The spilled drink,” Frank continued.
“You were little.”
His voice cracked.
“And I was angry.”
Frank shook his head.
“My father was like that too.”
He looked ashamed.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t become him.”
A long pause.
“But somehow I did.”
Owen sat quietly.
“I’m sorry, son.”
Frank looked directly at him.
“I don’t know how long I’m going to remember who you are.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“So I wanted to tell you while I still could.”
Owen reached out and took his father’s hand.
“Something happened tonight,” he said.
“There was a boy at the theater.”
Frank listened.
“His father grabbed him when they got upset.”
Owen paused.
“And somebody stepped in.”
Frank looked surprised.
“Who?”
Owen hesitated.
“Me.”
Frank’s face changed.
He squeezed Owen’s hand.
“Good.”
He whispered the word again.
“Good.”
Then he said something I will never forget.
