Owen

I’d known Owen for years. He worked odd jobs and drove an old car … a few dents but it always started. Owen wore clothes from a second-hand shop … a few patches but always clean. He lived in a small walk-up … took Sunday dinners at a modest diner … in every respect, a modest life. He told me that his father’s name was Owen … and his father’s father was Owen and way back there were men named Owen. I asked him why that name. Owen told me it was so no one would forget: “Own little and owe no one.”