A story about my Dad

Last night my younger son told me a story about my Dad - he remembered being left with my Dad, his Ompa, one day when all the rest of us went skiing. They went to buy bagels, and my son remembers the neighborhood where the bagel place was, in Pittsburgh, as kind of sketchy - he was about 8 or 9 - and when they came out of the bakery, there was a homeless man standing by Ompa's car. My father hands the homeless man a bill - my son says a $10, but that seems like too much to me - and says, "Thanks for watching my car."