My papa was a rolling stone, half Grizzly Adams and half hard-grit biker who’s owned nine Harleys. I’ll never know why he chose not to be in my life because I was a great kid, and maybe living in two different states made it difficult. I do know my mother can be difficult to be around. He showed up a few years ago from Florida out of the blue, maybe because he’s near the end of life and having to wheel an oxygen tank around. So we got acquainted and he told me how my grandparents were doing. My grandfather a dredge operator in the bayou, and grandmother a toll booth operator. I remember spending time with them as a child; they both had a beer in their hand after a hard day’s work but lived good lives. We went to the local pub here and shared a couple of pitchers of draft beer and got to know each other and he made amends, although I never had any hard feelings, to begin with. It was good getting to know him and we had a good time. That’s what it’s all about, right? Good beer and good times.
