He misunderstood a story and needed it explained.

The children corrected him without fear, and he accepted being corrected.

After dinner, we washed dishes together.

He asked how I had managed bedtime when they were babies.

I explained the charts, the bottles, the way Aunt Ruth had taught me to keep everyone on a consistent schedule when possible.

He stared at the dish in his hand.

‘I wish I could have helped,’ he said.

‘You could have,’ I replied.