A letter from Papaw — Before light. Card on the table, my name in a kid's careful hand.

I'll admit something. There was a fella at the gas station off the highway last month I was short with. Filling the Ford, radio going to static on the gospel hour, and he asked me twice how to work the pump. I sighed the second time. Sighed at him.

Drove home. Tires on the gravel. Sat there.

Grandbaby sent me a card this week. No occasion. Just sent it. And I thought about that man at the pump, and I thought — nobody sends him a card, and I don't know the first thing about his week, and I sighed at him over a pump handle.

That fella at the pump was somebody's grandbaby once, and I sighed at him for two dollars' worth of gas and a question.

Love,