Joyce and Walter

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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.

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