Zlaw’s Echo

An old man is sitting in a rocking chair on his porch, scribbling on a sudoku grid with a pencil, as a younger man comes to sit next to him. “Dad. Can I ask you a question?” The older man looks up from his puzzle, above his glasses, to his son. “Sure.” “How did you know what to do with me?” “What sort of question is that?” The son clicks his tongue, annoyed at this response. “Seriously? Pretty much every conversation we have ever had, as far back as I can remember, no matter how benign it started, ended up in a lecture, and now that I’m actually asking for advice, you’re just going to play dumb?” “Is that really how you view our relationship?” “Will you please stop answering my questions with more questions! It doesn’t matter. That’s not what I want to get into right now.” “I would answer with a statement if I had one to give, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking, exactly.” The younger man looks away and sighs. “God knows we don’t agree on everything, far from ...