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way: During a prune-picking season on the ranch, the foreman of a crew Father had hired told him the men were complaining that the boxes of fruit, when filled, were too heavy for easy handling. The wanted lighter loads, he said. Without a word, Father set a box of prunes on top of another box and hoisted them together into the wagon. It must have been an impressive gesture, but he paid dearly for it. He tore the ligaments in his arm. Now he was completely helpless. For weeks, until his arm healed, Mother fed him and took care of him as if he were an infant. His temper flared at the slightest provocation or no provocation at all.

     After this incident, I often thought how much simpler and easier his life and ours would have been if only he would accept help in small things. But he was implacable. He would attempt to do something with his one hand and failing, try again and again. In a fury of frustration, he would swear until the air turned blue. My mother would turn away, choking back her tears, and sometimes I did too, overcome with pity