My father turned 91 years old this week.
There wasn’t much fanfare.
My brother brought a bottle of wine and we ate Middle Eastern food from The Falafel Drive In in the garage with the doors open letting in a nice breeze.
Not that he’d allow it, but I most resent Covid-19 for taking away the possibility of having an appropriate celebration for his birthday in his golden years.
Here he is, making a joke about the neighbor’s remodel job, taking a moment to snap a picture of him on their toilet reading a newspaper with all the walls torn down.
Happy birthday Dad!