t　made　me　feel　like　an

invader　in　my　own　territory。

He　rolled　over　and　kind　of　groaned；　then　curled　up　tighter　under　his　skinny　little　quilt　and

muttered　some　pretty　unfriendly…sounding　stuff　into　his

pillow。

I　beat　it　into　the　kitchen　and　poured　myself　a　killer　bowl　of　corn　flakes。　And　I　was　about　to

drown　it　in　milk　when　my　mother　es　waltzing　in　and

snags　it　away　from　me。　“You　are　going　to　wait；　young　man；”　she　says。　“This　family　is　going　to

have　Sunday　breakfast　together。”

“But　I'm　starving！”

“So　are　the　rest　of　us。　Now　go！　I'm　making　pancakes；　and　you're　taking　a　shower。　Go！”

Like　a　shower's　going　to　prevent　imminent　starvation。

But　I　headed　down　to　the　bathroom；　and　on　my　way　I　noticed　that　the　family　room　was　empty。

The　quilt　was　folded　and　back　on　the　armrest；　the

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pillow　was　gone…it　was　like　I'd　imagined　the　whole　thing。

At　breakfast　my　father　didn't　look　like　he'd　spent　the　night　on　the　couch。　No　bags　under　his

eyes；　no　whiskers　on　his　chin。　He　was　decked　out　in

tennis　shorts　and　a　lavender　polo　shirt；　and　his　hair　was　all　blown　dry　like　it　was　a　workday。

Personally　I　thought　the　shirt　looked　kind　of　girly；　but　my

mom　said；　“You　look　very　nice　this　morning；　Rick。”

My　father　just　eyed　her　suspiciously。

Then　my　grandfather　came　in；　saying；　“Patsy；　the　house　smells　wonderful！　Good　morning；

Rick。　Hi