"Hey dad!" Tiny calls as he enters the house, precariously balancing a pair of cardboard boxes with 'Chicago Fire' written on them. "I got dinner."
"Just put it in the kitchen, I'm watching the Brownies try."
Tiny sighed, bringing the food into the living room. His father sat on the couch, the wheelchair off to the side. Whereas Tiny had hairs you could count, his father, despite his impressive age, had a full head of long white hair.
The Browns were losing to somebody, Tiny didn't bother checking who. It was a local legend among the Cleveland People that a despair spirit had taken over the team. Tiny was a firm believer.

He put a slice of pepperoni on a plate, along with a good portion of salad, and set it in front of his father. He took two slices for himself and filled the rest with what passed for Greek greens.
At the commercial his father looked down. 'You know I don't like salad. And where's the rest of the pizza." He grumbled, taking his slice.
"Your heart doctor doesn't even want you looking at pizza. Eat the salad for him, and don't tell him I gave you a slice."
His father grumbled something and ate the pizza first, before ruefully eating the salad. Tiny did the reverse, tackling his greens before getting into the delicious cheesy salty meaty mess.

The browns game picked up, and the two men watched absently as they ate their food, just enjoying the company and the disappointment of another punt.
"How's work?" His dad finally asked as the halftime started. He'd tried to sneak Tiny' second slice, but the balder man had snatched the plate back. "Hard. I've got enough clients to keep me busy, and I'm learning California law the hard way. Probably another year before I try for the Bar here. I'll want several friends backing me up when i go before the Bar." Tiny doesn't mention that he'll get some spiritual help too, his dad never liked hearing about mom's business.
"What about you?" Kyle explains to his son the intricacies of the local bridge scene, and his slow rise through the ranks of the league. "I'm stuck as the worst in my foursome. But I'm learning how to play from the bottom."
Tiny nods, familiar with the concept of being the weakest in the group. "Its a different way to win, you need a good teammate to make it work right?"
"Yeah, and my partner is a fox." Tiny shakes his head as his father shows him the picture of an older woman, probably mid 60s by Tiny's guess, wearing what 40 years ago was a provocative dress, and today is...fine.
"Just don't tell me any details. Anyway, wanted to let you know I've made a few friends. We'll be going hunting soon."
His dad's eyes hardened, "I hate that word."
Tiny sighed, regretting his slip of the tongue. "Look, I know, I'm sorry. They're good people, no one has a family, so there isn't, you know, that problem." But he knew the damage was done.
Kyle shakes his head, "I raised you the best I could, and I know you have to do what you have to do. But I'll tell you again, if you bring any kids into this world, you're going to be at least half the father I was." He turns back to the game, the words echoing in the room as the browns fumble the kickoff return.
"I don't think that'll be a problem dad." Tiny sighs, turning back to his meal, finding the last slice of pizza no longer appetizing.