It’s 7 a.m. on any given weekday and the regular crowd shuffles in. No one asks where to sit; it’s been settled by habit over the years.
I’m at the retirement facility in Lubbock, Texas, where my mom and dad live. And on this day, I join my dad’s breakfast bunch. This morning Dad, age 89, is undergoing a knee replacement while Mom, 92, waits in their apartment.
At the breakfast table, Larry, the retired cotton farmer, sits to my left, calmly smiling beneath his red suspenders and flannel shirt.