Holy Father Worry


By Jerry Vilhotti

Ever since I’d known my parents they bickered: always taking opposite sides of an issue, using their words like needles against one another as if mending all the bad things they had done to one another, hoping a new whole cloth would emerge.

They did mellow a bit when old age hit, what with my father gong to church every morning and putting envelopes in the tray, trying to bribe God to look the other away and forget his past sins with women, and my mother would poke fun at him by calling him “Holy Father Worry.”


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