Actually, even for a die-hard, hard-core, hardened individual like myself, I’ll admit, the food was pretty good. Hard to imagine in Texas. Huh. Who’d a-thunk it?
With Pa Wetzel. In Dallas.
There was another shot, I posted it on to Ma Wetzel, Pops in the Ice Cream shop. I had a tiny.
We – it was me and a group of friends – took my dad out since he was generously letting us camp out for the weekend “chez Casa Wetzel.”
Pa Wetzel is one of the last of the polio survivors from the old “Warm Springs” era. We parked the truck, about half a block from the restaurant Pa Wetzel suggested, then he unlimbered two canes and proceeded in his ungainly yet determined pace to slowly move forward towards his destination, the rest of us following him like ducklings following a mama duck.
As we were walking in, I pulled up alongside my fishing buddy, he suggested we drop Pa Wetzel at the doorstep then park the truck. My father would have none of that, “I’ll just walk.” Although, it’s obvious, at his age, it’s a bit of trouble. He’s definitely “mobility impaired,” even if he won’t admit it.
So when I was alongside my fishing buddy, I pointed out the family behavior trait, and I said, “Next time I want to fish a little longer, you know where I got the stubborn streak from.”
Two Meat Tuesday (the book)
(cure for the common horoscope)
Bexar County Line
