We tag along as a father and son go about their many chores.

Dad's out front, leading the way. His li'l offspring walks just a few feet behind, maybe hanging his head, a bit. They proceed to the scene of the next chore.

As we round some corners and see the pair in action we notice that dad has some peculiarities.

He's barefoot, so we can see that the front half of his right foot is missing. He limps, but he gets by alright.

His right arm has been burnt. We know it's a burn because of the swirly, unnatural scar tissue covering most of his arm, beginning around the bicep. It gets gradually worse as you look farther down his arm until you get to his hand: There is perhaps one or two whole fingers. The others are variously melted candles. His pinky is gone altogether. There are no fingernails. He does have a pretty good index finger though, which is still used frequently for pointing at things.

He's missing a large patch of hair on his upper-left scalp. All we can tell for sure here is that there's a big, broad scar and no hair at all in a palm-sized splotch. The hair on its periphery seems to have changed its character. They look something like pubic hair, but they grow and grow, just like usual head hair.

We surmise that a chunk of hair was just ripped out, taking a few layers of scalp with it.

He is missing his left eye altogether. All we can really see is that he keeps his left eyelid closed at all times. But it closes a bit too much, like a tight-lipped toothless mouth.

Tragically, he was born with a lazy right eye. Its visual acuity is pretty much normal, but he has to do more head tilting than usual in order to look in certain directions. And sometimes, no head turning is required at all, despite the observed object being "way over there". It's unnerving at first.

He stops, turns and makes a statement with the slurred, slow speech of a stroke victim.

D'you remember to bring the breaker bar?

Yes, Pappy, he remembered.

The breaker bar is 5' long and weighs about 15 pounds. It's as inconspicuous as a towering crucifix.

His his right ear has obviously been melted. We surmise again that this is a result of whatever burned his arm and hand so badly. But, the upper half of this same ear is just plain missing, with a clean, level cut. All gone. Another mystery.

The boy is his constant companion and helper.

He stops to breath. The breathing is steady but deep and purposeful. He can be heard muttering something to no audience in particular. We know not to interrupt or disturb him here.

Finally the party of two and us, the secret observer, arrive at the site of the chore du jour.

An old truck that became "parts" decades ago has a rear brake drum that we need. The wheel's got to come off.

It stands on a teetering tower of concrete blocks. This was yesterday's chore. The wheel sits inches off the ground, lug nuts still rusted in place.

Pappy puts the lug wrench on nut number one, a few degrees above horizontal and our lad slips the breaker bar over the wrench, boldly without asking first. A firm decision: "Now is when I slip the breaker bar on!"

Pappy shuffles awkwardly to the end of the breaker bar, placing his hand about 6 inches from the end. His head moves in, back, and then in again, as Pappy rotates his head to look straight down over the tip to check for verticalness.

With his head over the end of the breaker bar, looking down, he tosses the large heirloom sledge hammer in the boy's direction, which lands at his feet.

Pappy with his head still right above the striking point rotates his head up and a bit sideways to look right at the boy with his one eye.

Maintaining eye contact, he draws his head back again to vertical and instructs the boy.

Hit it boy! Hit it good, right on the end!

He continues to look at the boy, who obediently keeps eye contact with him as the rage in his pink cheeks signal the start of the great overhead swing. In this instant, in his own way, he thinks to himself, "I'm doing the thing that Pappy tol me to! The spotlight's on me! Watch how good I do! Now's yer chance! Show Pappy you can do it without making no mistakes!"

The hammer strikes and sparks fly. Pappy flinches a bit and the wheel spins lazily. The nut, just a bit shinier and rounder than before, does not turn.

Pappy sighs, shakes his head and gives the boy a look. The look says, You fucked up but we'll try it again.

The boy wants to be just like Pappy some day and so loses none of his optimism and determination.

Pappy shuffles over, turns his back to the boy, and silently begins to set up the next attempt.