As I throw wrap the straps of my multiple bags around my body and walk up to the garage door and push the key code into the opener, and as the door rises there he is. He would greet me nonchalantly and return back to his project he had randomly assigned himself. He is a middle aged man with thinning hair that is beginning to gray. I watch him in is worn out clothes reattaching the parts of his car so gently it's as if it is a newborn baby. I have always viewed him as a very materialistic man who has always taken pride in the three black, shiny vehicles that are parked in our garage. His most expensive prized possession is parked in the third bay farthest from the entrance into my house, where the rest of my family expresses relief as we can stretch out on the couch and talk about things that are secrets to this tense opinionated man. As he enters the house in search of something we quickly change the topic of discussion.