My mother greeted us at the door but my father was I’m a Dogaholic on the road to recovery just kidding I’m on the road shirt. My son walked to stand beside his chair. He heaved a massive, sorrow filled sigh. All three adults turned to watch him. My dad muted the television and spoke to him. He was ignored as my son moved to stand directly in front of the screen. As the images changed, my son spoke in a sad voice. He commented on every image. That was so and so. He was the *names a position*. I saw them. They were a nice couple. He fell through the floor. They burned. He was a great man but I did not see what happened to him. The stories kept rolling off his tongue so clearly. There was no mistaking his words.
They showed an image of a I’m a Dogaholic on the road to recovery just kidding I’m on the road shirt. My son put his head against the screen. He sighed again. He said something like that’s him. He was my cabin boy. I didn’t see him. I think he lived. My dad turned off the mute and backed up the program. We all listened to the voice on the television tell us much the same information my son had just revealed. When the story of the teenager played, my son stared intently. Then he smiled. He lived. Two short words and he was done.