My wife’s grandfather was a Bracero from Mexico in the ’50s. He’s a tough and charming man, 94, lives alone with some paid help afternoons. Last month he got one of his grandkids’ kids a job at McDonalds. He told them they should hire the kid, he bought a McMuffin, and they hired Albert. Saturday he told us, in Spanish because English hasn’t pierced his skull in 60 years, about an afternoon he’d had at the park. He met a younger woman (60s), and soon she asked how old he was. “How old do you think?” “Maybe in your 80s?” “My 80s? Hah. If I were still in my [Read More]