A new narrative
Forty years ago, as I was leaving my friend’s house to throw a baseball outside, his father stopped us for inspection.
“Where are you going?” Peter’s father asked. “When will you be back?” And most pointedly: “Have you done your homework?” Peter had, but I had not. “I’ll get around to it,” I said.
“Ah, well, here you go.” Peter’s father put a small round disk in my hand. I turned it over, and on the back printed in “You said you’ll get a round Tuit,” he laughed, every bit the corny dentist he was, “now here you go.” I still have my Tuit. It sits on my bookshelf, gathering questions. Did Peter’s father go to a woodworker to have these printed? Did he keep a bag in his car and refresh his pockets daily? Did anyone ever give it back?
