I looked into his deep blue eyes, his leathered skin from years of working in the sun.

He sighs and says, “Bed-bug, we can’t give handouts to everyone. That creates lazier people. I worked for what I got. I struggled. I didn’t take a handout.”

My young newly educated mind was stuck in an internal debate: How do I respect my elders, a law of growing up in Appalachian, but still voice by differences?

I listened as Papa detailed the depths of his experiences. The struggles and sacrifices he made, that I benefited from.

I was aware my viewpoints were different. He looked at me as he finished his story, always the go to family storyteller.

It was clear we would never agree. But, I loved him anyways.

I smiled and responded, “I guess we will agree to disagree.”

The playful fire sparked in his deep blue eyes.