During Anthony’s rather difficult Father’s day visit yesterday, there were a few moments of enjoyment (but only in hindsight). As I was hobbling around the kitchen using one of his walking sticks, and his nephew was trying to get Anthony to turn his walking frame around in order to sit down, Ming gave me a look of utter confoundment and withdrew to his room. I can’t say I blame him.
Once I put my boots on, my sore ankle steadied itself so I abandoned the walking stick for a slight limp as I poured teas, coffees and whiskeys for Ants, his nephew, another friend and me. Nobody seemed to care about my sore ankle as all the attention was focussed on Anthony who was a bit silent and slumpy, so instead we chased a few conversations around the room, had a few laughs and, when it came time for our visitors to go, I got up, winced with pain and said, petulantly, “How come nobody cares about my ankle?”
Suddenly, Anthony emerged from his silence and said to his nephew, “There is always something wrong with her!”
Hilarity filled the kitchen and I gave him a huge hug.
jmgoyder 