Last weekend, I took my dad to the mall to buy him a new pair of shoes. He’s ninety-two, but still sharp as ever—especially with his words. After shopping, we stopped at the food court for a quick bite. While I was focused on my sandwich, I noticed Dad staring at someone a few tables away.
A teenager sat there with hair spiked high and dyed in bright streaks of green, orange, blue, and red. He was definitely hard to miss. Every time Dad looked over, I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t say anything. But he just kept studying the boy quietly, almost curiously.
Eventually, the teen noticed and rolled his eyes. After a few more glances from Dad, the boy finally snapped, “What’s wrong, old man? Never done anything wild in your life?”
I froze. I knew that tone. It was a challenge.
Without missing a beat—and without even looking offended—Dad calmly wiped his mouth with a napkin and replied, “Actually, son… once, when I was about your age, I got so wild I drank too much and ended up kissing a parrot. I’ve just been wondering if you might be my boy.”
The entire food court burst into laughter.
The teen didn’t say another word. His friends lost it. I almost choked on my drink. And Dad? He just continued eating calmly like nothing happened, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips.
That’s my father—quiet, observant, and armed with the sharpest humor you’ll ever meet. Even at ninety-two, he doesn’t just have stories…
He makes them.
