I remember the parable of the prodigal son from Sunday school. So when our son told us that he was moving back to Chicago with our figlia-in-law, I immediately recalled the jubilant father who directed his servant to kill the fatted calf in celebration. We don’t have a fatted calf or a servant (no room for either in our condo), but I thought we could at least open an expensive bottle of wine, and put part of a fatted calf on the grill to celebrate the return of our prodigal son.
Then I looked up “prodigal son” in the dictionary.
Continue reading 40. The not-so-prodigal son returns.