My father, left few things for me to know of him. My father was weak. My father was a good cook, that’s what I know about him. He made good kidneys and eggs, he did great barbecue. He liked to bicycle a good bit. He mouthed words from the bible, not cause he was an idiot but he wanted the weight of words to be in two senses, not just one. My father slept on a water bed, had a big tv -before having a big tv was normal. I didn’t really know him. He had a whisper and rarely raised his voice at me. He had little interest in being angry at me, but before my little train would derail and kill passengers he’d knock me back on track.
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