One June day years ago, when they were young, my mom and dad drop by my mom’s parents’ house to introduce my dad. My mom’s dad, Gene, is sitting out on the front porch in the sun, in a long sleeve shirt, smoking.

“Don’t you have any summer shirts, Dad?” My mom calls out, young man in tow.

Gene takes a drag from his cigarette, shrugs.

“Some are shirts, some are not.”