September 23, 2019
11 a.m. I wake up to Dad's nudges. "Lunchtime, sleepyhead." I see that he's switched the TV to local programming. That pesky soap commercial is on, in it a lady is rubbing the soap bar on her arm ever so gently, so slowly, so uselessly. "That's not how we use soap," I say to my Dad. "No, bonito, it certainly is not the way we use soap," there's amusement in his voice and I feel a fondness for him that takes my breath away. I am Bonito extraordinaire today. I don't want this day to end. But I'm sleepy.