She Can't Read Cursive

I just made a cup of chamomile tea to sit down and write some words about my dad.  When I meet his friends they all talk about how entertaining he was and how outgoing and friendly.  I suppose I can see that in him, but that is certainly not how I would have described him.  I would have used words like quiet, serious, and caring. My earliest memories of my dad are of him being a caretaker.  He would take my brother and I over to check in on my grandmother and make sure she had everything she needed and was doing okay.  She lived in a group home of sorts on Home Road.  I just remember the garage had a pony painted over the door.  I was five when she passed.   I remember him taking us over to his sister’s place—to Aunt Betty’s apartment.  Seems like he was bringing her food and making repairs around the home.  I remember Aunt Betty laughed a lot, had white hair, wore lots of red and was in a wheelchair.  I have even fewe...