I remember being a teenager when I looked out the window and saw a dead man walking through our backyard. White as a ghost, skin sagging off his bones; he looked 200 years old but somehow had the agility to speed walk and enthusiastically wave when he caught me staring. A few years younger than my dad; Chad was the little brother of one of his childhood friends, he’d lived life on drugs and my dad found him on the streets one day and took him in. It was around the same time Dave showed up, he was bigger in stature, had great hair and beautiful skin; it wasn’t until he spoke that you could see the effects the chemicals had had on him. Dad gave them simple tasks like picking up trash and sweeping the sidewalks; he was careful to pay them enough to get some food but not enough to make it dangerous. When giving Chad money for rent got tricky Dad got him a fifth wheel and parked it at the office. He hired him as security and it became his home. My dad did help him financially but what he really gave Chad was purpose; he felt needed by him and that changed his life. Chad cleaned up, he was happy, and he lived there for years until his body finally surrendered. Dave was another little brother of a different friend. When his mom died, the rest of his family mostly abandoned him so my dad gave him work. When he turned 50 Dad threw Dave a surprise party at a bar and he cried. Dave said he had never felt so loved. He passed away and my dad spoke at his funeral, I didn’t know any of this story until a cousin called me after and told me how great that bar party was. (cont in next post)