Next to my father’s piano shop, on the corner of Boylston Street and where Park Plaza turns to Charles Street in Boston, there was once a florist. His name was John and his storefront is now a Boloco. On the day before Thanksgiving my Mom would tell my Dad not to forget the flowers. My Dad’s eyes would get big and you could see realization come across his face- he would have forgotten the flowers- in fact- maybe he already had.
But it didn’t matter, John always had my Dad’s back. He would come home with a beautiful and different arrangement every year.