Feeling Sensitive

 Before my mother passed away, I was having breakfast with her and my father. It was something I did every Saturday, join them for breakfast. In retrospect, I should have taken them both out for breakfast, but it never occurred to me.

     I was starting to have problems in my first marriage, so I must have been feeling sensitive. I asked them, “What’s your secret to a long marriage?”

     My mother looked sweetly at my father.

     “I love him,” she said sweetly.

     My father is not one to be sentimental, and that day was no different.

     “How about you, pop?” I prodded.

     “I love me, too,” he said.