The man who favored his left leg sat down on the other side of a plexiglass window and picked up the telephone. I picked up a matching phone and listened to what he had to say.

“You’ve never done a single thing with your life that you could ever be proud of,” he started. “You’re a son of a bitch and I hope I never see your lousy face again,” he continued. None of this surprised me I guess, we had all come to expect this kind of behavior from him.

After a few moments of silence I spoke up. “You don’t have to be like that. You’re projecting again.”

His eyes seemed distant and thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe you’re right,” he replied. Sometimes he could be so venomous and then in a moment he was like a sad child.

We continued talking for a few minutes, pleasantries mostly. He seemed intensely interested in the weather. Finally I stood up to leave.

“Where are you going after you leave today?” he asked.

“Back home, to Mom’s” I responded.

“Tell her I love her”

“Can do.” I said. “Happy Father’s Day.”