Thank you to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.
“I haven’t seen a watch like this in years. My great-grandfather had one . . . I was only a boy of seven and I remember sitting on his lap.” Edgar said.
“That’s nice Dad. You always tell me this story. It’s your watch now Dad, remember?” Tracy interrupted.
“No, it was Great-Grandpa Vern’s watch. I sat on his lap an he said I could have it when he died. He was eighty-four which was quite old for the time . . .”
“Your Great-Grandpa did die Dad. A year later, he got the flu; you told me. You inherited his watch.” Tracy said.
“He died? I don’t remember him giving me the watch . . . But I suppose, since I have it — it’s my watch now. How old am I?”
Tracy patted her Dad’s hand, “You’re ninty-seven Dad. You lived longer than your Dad or your Grandpa or your Great-Grandpa.”
“Ninty-seven?” Edgar said surprised.
“Time goes fast. When I die, best give the watch to your boy; the one with all the tattoos.” Edgar remarked, peering at Tracy. He didn’t know her, only knew she was his daughter because she visited.
Edgar was shocked to realize he was ninty-seven. The watch would have to go to his only grandson.
There had to be productivity and hard work hidden in those tattoos somewhere.
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