"I'm almost sure she caught me wanking myself, but apparently she didn't care.The horn blared for the fourth time."Well, I better not keep your father...waiting," she said, smiling with those bright, red lips.She slammed the door shut and I went to the window to watch my dad's Cadillac back out of the driveway. When I saw their taillights disappear around the corner, I dashed up to my parent's bedroom for my weekly fashion show.My step mom's jasmine perfume still lingered in the room, as if it. If he told the same story over andover again…it’s because he believed it was worth the telling. I think he knew, as some people instinctively know and as others never learn, that the words are important. Even more important than the story.’ I’m getting choked up, now, and I can feel my smile fade. ‘My grandfather didn’t call me son by mistake. He didn’t call me son as a way of mourning, or hiding the loss of, his own child. And he didn’t call me son as a casual term of endearment. My. More

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