Suburban Dad, by Jeffrey Griffiths

I liked a girl named Shari who lived up the street. I was thirteen and so was she. Shari’s dad was a truck driver. His name was Jimmy. When he was home he’d park his long truck across the street beside the park.

One night at dinner, my mom said, “That damn Jimmy has a girlfriend in every town.”

My dad looked up from his plate, chuckled and said, “He’s a crazy devil.”
​
After dinner Dad sat on the front steps smoking and looking at Jimmy’s truck. He tossed the cigarette into the grass, smiled, and came back inside.