He strolled in with a twelve-pack of Heineken under his left arm. He isn’t a big drinker; this seems odd. He sets down the case in the kitchen and gives me a funny look. I can have a beer with my meal.
My father stands at 5’5” with his boots on. He has to look up slightly whenever he talks to me. I sometimes wonder if looking up to me while we talk, can be translated to a sense of pride in his only son. There have been only a handful of instances where he has let me know that he is proud of me.
I joke about drinking all the beer myself to watch him laugh. I can have some, but I have to wait until our meal. However, I am on my way out and will not be joining my parents for dinner.
It occurred to me that my father wanted to enjoy a beer with me on my last day at home. I could not join him for that beer, but I am sure that it would have been the best tasting beer I have ever had.