…orders one of us to retrieve a bottle of Primo beer from the ‘fridge. The
routine has made small hands practiced with manipulating a bottle opener. He sits
cross-legged on the hardwood floor, two feet from the television of our two-bedroom
rental, the Hawaii Hochi paper spread to receive the discarded shells and skins of
roasted peanuts. Attentively we watch; his glare fixed on the six o’clock news,
the swig of Primo beer alternating with the methodical work of his jaw on roasted
peanuts, draining two bottles. For us kids, Father’s Day fell every weeknight at
six o’ clock.
Prompt: Unknown