Did I tell you about the time my father saved my life? The bartender looked at him. Yeah, he said. You did. I was sixteen, the man said. We were at Hoss’s Steak House, you know it? No, the bartender said. Yeah, you don’t got them up here. Anyways, we were eating dessert. It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet style thing, so you can just take as much as you want. I got a bunch of cupcakes. I was trying to see how many I could fit in my mouth. I got two in. My little brother was laughing. My mother was telling me not to be a pig. I was trying to chew them up and swallow, and I started choking. I couldn’t breathe at all. The whole thing was stuck in my throat. I couldn’t make any sound. I stood up, grabbing my throat. My bother was staring. My mother was staring. The table next to us was staring. My father was coming back to the table and when he saw me he came up behind me and did the Heimlech. The cupcakes came out in a big clump on the table. He told me to drink some water. It’d really only been about ten seconds when I couldn’t breath. I acted like it was no big deal, like it was nothing. I got some chocolate pudding. We finished dessert and went home and acted like it was nothing. A couple weeks later I was like, Holy shit, I almost died. If my father hadn’t done anything, I would’ve died. That’s some crazy shit. Alright, one more drink. Then I’m going home. I know I said that before but now I mean it. Two years now, my father’s dead. Before he goes I say to him, I never said thanks for saving my life. When? he says. At Hoss’s, I say. Hoss’s? he says. Yeah, I say. When I was choking on those cupcakes. Don’t mention it, he says. Don’t mention it. That’s my father. That’s my fucking old man.