The same dudes that my dad used to chase from in front of the house (also, the same dudes that afforded me opportunities to help my parents out monetarily for a while. and buy my own school clothes. and pay a couple semesters of tuition) are the same dudes that check on him during the day since he’s been home from work hurt.
Sometimes when I’m out walking or doing stuff with the kids, we’ll talk about how crazy the 90s were in my town. They’ll mention how my dad got soft in his old age because of grandkids and how him telling them they needed to grow up before they had kids of their own made them realize how precious life is/how much time is wasted worrying about inconsequential things.
I think it should be mentioned that ALL of their kids call my dad “Uncle Tyrone” or “Uncle Ty” or “Uncle T” or “Coach PopPop” or some amalgamation of the 2. It annoys the every loving shit out of him 6 days a week until he realizes he doesn’t have to feed them.
Not saying my pops has ALWAYS been this way, but that’s a post for another time.