My eighty-eight-year-old friend salutes me every morn from his front porch without fail.
He lives with his sons, a rough looking crowd with a tattoo collection and pit-bull gang, and I must confess it took a moment before I really started to pay attention to the house behind the barbed wire. But oh boy, when I did, we became the best of friends.
So, don’t just walk by because if you do, you could be missing out on his birthday party, meeting his family that comes from all over the world to shower him with love, and a smile that’s wider than the sky.
Who’s your Don Ignacio?