They Who Serve

[Geee]

American Thinker:

My father lives in a wonderful retirement community where the lawns are all neatly mowed, the roses pruned, and the trees trimmed every fall. When I come by each week Dad usually has three or four requests from his friends lined up for me: move a couch, carry some heavy boxes upstairs, assemble some furniture, or set up a new TV or computer.

Em and Sparks, a happy but odd couple live in the building across the courtyard in a large condo. I have moved their TV, and re-arranged their living room furniture a couple of time over the past few years. I have also hung Sparks's models from the ceiling in his study. This week Dad asked that I would help Sparks with something heavy in his closet.

"Age is finally catching up with Sparks," My father told me. "He's almost ninety and has had a couple accidents getting around the house."

"Anything serious?"

"Em is thinking of moving Sparks to an extended care facility, if these problems continue. Accidents at his age are pretty damn serious. See what you think when you go over there."

I walked across the courtyard and asked myself the question I always asked before I rang their doorbell. Why does Em, who is very sprightly and spirited sixty- eight-year-old widow, shack up with man over twenty years her senior?

I rang the doorbell, while anticipating Sparks's normal greeting. I was not disappointed.

"Is that NMI's kid?" a gravelly voice asked. My Dad was in the service and had no middle initial in his name. Sparks heard this story once and I was thereafter known as NMI's kid, even with my own graying mustache and salt and pepper hair. Em answered the door, her usual cheerfulness clouded with serious dark eyes and a thin smile.

Em grabbed my arm and hurriedly whispered in that deep Southern lilt, "We must talk first, Cal. I'll tell Sparks he needs to finish up the ailerons on that ME 109, before you move anything." Em guided Sparks into his study, got him settled in at his work bench, and closed the door as she left the room.