It was Dad's birthday yesterday. We ate together, something we never do. I hugged my brother because I needed it. I'm sentimental and touchy.
I had slipped on a puddle of mud and scraped my knee on a sidewalk the night before. My mother gave me antibacterial cream to treat it. She handed me the little tube, and I told her one of my earliest memories of Dad treating my scraped knee.
I was sitting on the bed, and he was kneeling in front of me, dabbing Vandol on my wound very gingerly with his ring finger and blowing on it to distract me from the sting.