My brother Dwight is dressed up in a nice suit and has received a guitar and a banjo for his birthday. He sits for a moment in a manual wheelchair that is in the room. I comment to him that my father was pleased that he's enjoying his birthday gifts. Dwight asks how I know, since my father didn't say anything. I said, "It was in his face, his expression. I could tell he knew you loved sitting in the wheelchair." Dwight says, "All I did was sit." I say, "I know, but I could tell Dad could tell you loved the gift." Then, as Dwight is making a chair out of the cardboard boxes, the gifts came in by folding them on the perforated lines, I say, "You know, I had a guitar, a mandolin, a fiddle and a banjo." Dwight says, "Really?" I say, "Yes, but I sold some of them." He asks, "Why did you?" I say, "I was poor. I needed the money. I was a student then and on SSI" (Dwight says the SSI word with me like he's heard this story many times). I only got $1450 a month and I had to save $100 a month for the kids, for child support. Dwight says, "It doesn't matter anymore." I say, "Doesn't it?" I clearly think it still matters.