How Pa could joke was beyond my understanding. I found nothing humorous about the situation or anything else, for that matter, and hadn’t in a very long time. I gave him a weak smile when he looked my way. It was the best I could do, considering we were sitting in the office of a mental hospital with Pa’s sliced-up arms on display. His skin had taken on a sallow tone and the circles underneath his eyes were the darkest I’d ever seen them. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone had punched him in both eyes.

The gray-headed man leaned his elbows onto his messy desk. “Educating ourselves and then applying what we learn is much like a school. Shoot, sometimes we even have to send class members to the principal’s office.” Both men chuckled at that.

“Are you ready to attend, Mr. Foster?” Mr. Butkus spread his arms and gestured around his office as if it held all the answers to Pa’s problems. I sure wished it were that simple, yet nothing so far had been.

“I need to discuss it with Austin and then have a good long prayer about it, but to be honest, this is the first time a place has felt right.”

The director rose to his feet, a big smile on his face. “Well, I’m honored you feel that way, and I’d be even more honored if we are able to work together on your health.”

On the way out, I asked, “You want to grab something to eat before heading back to . . . ?” I hated saying the nursing home or facility, so I left it hanging there.

Of course Pa picked it up and joked, “The loony bin?”

“Pa!” I wasn’t a fan of that term, nor of my father using it in association with himself.

He stared out the window. “I could go for a loaded hot dog and onion rings from Duffy Dogs.”

“Sounds like a winner to me.” I just hoped he’d actually eat it. His appetite had been nonexistent since he’d entered treatment.