I met the doctor who would treat my husband and I for the next thirty-five years after The Curmudgeon had been going to him for a year or two.  I had my family physician before then, who, after a family tragedy, quit his practice and sort of left his patients without a doctor.

    Today my doctor’s son treated me.  (I was in for my every three months check.) I swear this young doctor looks exactly like his father did when I started going to him.  He even has his smile and laugh.

     As I talked to his father while I was getting ready to leave, I could tell he was very proud of his son.

     You all have a good one.  And, if the young doctor is reading this, you did good kid.

The Doctor, by Sir Luke Fildes (1891) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)