Joyce and Walter


Joyce sitting outside on the bench at her residential group home.

On Saturday, I stopped to pick up Walter for his most recent haircut. He’d been calling me for days asking when I could arrange it. That man’s hair grows faster than anyone I know, he’s sixty-one years old and the only gray hair he has is in his beard. There’s a word for that but I won’t say it. We also made plans to go to an ice cream social at a place I’d never been called Progress. The clients they serve at Progress are developmentally disabled whereas Walter’s disability came from a physical accident. Similar in some ways but different. Anyway, when I pulled up into the parking lot, Joyce waved to us and called out my name. Surprised, I got out of the car and talked to her for a few minutes, not long enough to get to know a person certainly but it was a good start. I found out she likes to read the Bible and she misses her mom. She has a daughter who she wishes would come around more often (every mom’s wish) and it takes those pin curls in her hair about four hours to dry.


Walter Burns on the patio, waiting for a fresh haircut.