It had belonged to his father and it was one of the only things he'd brought to this country with him.
He would sit in front of the television set at night watching the boxing matches.
Every once in a while he'd throw a punch in the air in solidarity.
We'd be in the doorway watching, giggling.
He made wine in the basement.
You could smell the grapes fermenting when you went to get the laundry.
He always wore suspenders and flannel shirts, even in the summer.
He'd wait until he thought no one was looking before giving the dog a piece of whatever he was eating.
Then he'd pet her until someone happened to glace over in which case he'd push the dog away as if she was bothering him.
He did the same with me when I was little but I knew it was all for show.
He was afraid of looking weak, looking too
nice.
He spent many years in a nursing home unaware of his surrounding's or the people who visited.
It broke my heart.
The watch sat on the bedside table along with a photograph of his wife until the day he passed away.
