Hot Day (part 4)
My father walks every day-- EVERY day--rain or shine. Today was not only one of the shine days, but it was also one of the hot days. The very hot days. I try to pass along this information to him, but if there's one thing I've learned from dealing with my father, it's that I can't deal with my father. "Pop," I tell him, "it's hot outside." "No, it's not." "Sure it is." "No, it's not." "I was just outside. It's hot." "It feels cool to me." "It feels cool to you because we're inside the house. Outside, it's hot." But my father isn't really listening to me. He's trying on the new pair of Nike walking shoes I've just brought him from Tucson. "Yeah," he tells himself, "these feel good. It's just what I needed." He stands up after putting them on and does a little high-stepping around the island in the kitchen. "They fit perfect...