The Thinker

I could always tell when my dad had had ENOUGH. He would sit down, put his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, and run his fingers through his hair, once, from front to back. There would be a long loud exhale. And with a deep breath, he would look up and calmly give instructions. My brother and I, and the two younger kids from his second marriage; we knew to do exactly what he said, quickly, earnestly, immediately. (My dad is an amiable. It takes a lot to get him upset. We were kids. We would push him right to the edge.)