After too much bickering at the dinner table the other night, I said to my middle two kids, “Okay, that’s it! You’re both on duty for a really tough chore tomorrow.”

What was it?

I made them take my dad (whom the kids call Poppy) to the Thanksgiving service at church.
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Dad really, really, really wanted to go and, expecting a full day of hungry visitors, I really couldn’t. Mom wasn’t up for it, either.

So I woke up those two bickering kids and sent them on their way. With Poppy.

They came back an hour or so later, a weary look on their face. (It’s a look that I’m starting to recognize. It’s the look of one who has taken my dad on errands…kind of like General Pickett’s face on the third day of the Battle of Gettysburg.)

“You won’t believe what he did!” shouted my daughter. “At the end of the service, people stood up and said what they were grateful for and one woman started to talk on and on about the things in her life that had happened this year, and then she started crying.
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In a loud voice, Poppy said, ‘Well, that’s a little much’.”

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