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Old Roy
My backyard neighbor when I was in my twenties was the landlord's Daddy. Mr. Roy was a hundred if he was a day, or so it seemed. Every time me and 2 year old BabyGirl went to visit him he'd be sittin' in that rocking chair passing the time of day 'til bedtime. Surrounded by the quiet ticking of an ancient clock and pictures of his memories he would light up when we made our appearance in his sitting room. BG called him Davis cuz she couldn't get out the Mr. part of the whole thing. She'd sit at his feet and climb in his lap and generally make his day.

I drew his blood to check his sugar pretty regular. The doc who treated him was a nutcase in his own right who had the Medicare fraud down to a fine art to finance his drug and high living habits. Several wives and hobbies preceded the great physician to his final drama with a gun to his head.

A few months after Old Roy's death, his son sent me a thank you note. We had bought the rental when I was seven months pregnant. To make the whole thing work Bill had loaned us the down payment to get the the 22K and move it around to save his own ass.

Imagine finding this kind of letter in your mailbox one day:

Thank you for takin' such good care of my Daddy. Consider your debt to me paid in full. Billy M.


Pay it forward. The faith always comes back around.
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