My Dad.

Sometimes I think about the last thing my dad said to me. It just occurred to me that it was in this very same room I'm in now. He was in bed, not yet asleep. My mom was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. I was 14, standing in the doorway, whining about my mom throwing away my favorite shorts. I admit, they were pretty ragged.
My dad, tired of hearing me fussing, looked over at me, from the bed, and said, "Boy, you don't know what real trouble is." He died that night. I guess he was right.
In the years following that night, I found out what real trouble was.
Boy, did I ever.