Dad would wait for supper, exhausted, in his worn cushion chair. He would finally be home from another day in cramped mine shafts. Yet, his reassuring smile still comforted us that he could work another day. Dad’s smile once was broader, his hair slightly darker, his back a bit straighter. Still, his simple presence somehow calmed Mom’s worrisome jitters. My father was not an overly large man, though in our eyes and in providing for his family, he was a mountain of a man.
The sweat had been washed off aging muscles.