We rolled up our trousers and walked barefoot. Dad was cheerful, almost jolly. He laughed repeatedly between long, knee-gripping coughing fits. He was 59; I was 27.
It took me years to understand that it wasn’t a real laugh so much as a genuine imitation of a dying man’s chuckle.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.