Don realized he’d become his family’s go-to for fixing things, driving places, and chipping in money — but was never actually consulted on the decisions that shaped anyone’s life. A house purchase he learned about secondhand finally made him count.
My name is Donald Heffner. Everyone calls me Don. I’m seventy-five and I live in Lititz, Pennsylvania.
It took me a while to notice the pattern because each individual call felt entirely reasonable on its own — could I come over and look at the dishwasher, could I pick the kids up from practice since Megan had a meeting run long, could I chip in for the new fence since the quote had come back higher than expected. I always said yes, gladly, because that’s what you do for family. That’s what my own father had done for me.
