I hated to have to ask him that. There was a slight pause as my father thought about the proposition.
We had just talked a long time about Charlie and Maggie and dad was enjoying the conversation.
"Where does Charlie get these shirts?" I asked my father as he chuckled. "They are covered in dried paint."
"He loves those shirts, his working shirts, and don't dare say something about them," my father told me laughing.
"I will call you in a little bit to come get your medications, okay?" my father said.
I told him, "I love you and thank you very much."
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