The Tutor My Father Hired

My father changed.

To be precise, the change started in March.

The Joseph Carrington I'd grown up with had a soft middle and a deep contempt for any garment that wasn't broken in. He came home from the office, dropped onto the den couch in a fleece pullover, propped his iPad on his stomach, and watched golf highlights with the volume cranked. When my mother told him he was getting comfortable, he said, "A man past forty-five, comfortable is the goal."