King of the Castle

It's just after 6 am and still dark outside. I am sitting my parents' kitchen with the lights low, giving Alice her first bottle of the day.

My father emerges from the bedroom, hair grizzled from sleep, wearing only his tightie whities and a pair of brown knit legwarmers. "Morning, hon," he says as he shuffles past. I try not to stare.

He opens the garage door, lets the dog out, then steps out into the center of the garage, as if it's a great stage. And there he stands, backlit and facing the entire neighborhood in his strange pajamas, observing the coming day from his perch on top of the world.