*the room is filled with loud chatter. Friends and family have what would seem to be the time of their lives, while eating appetizers as the host is grilling the last of the hamburgers. He announced that they are done, and for everyone to come outside. The guests come sit outside around the porch’s table, and they all grab the patties they pointed out and requested to be made to their specifications. Suddenly, the back door opens again, and a man holding an umbrella and dressed in a cowboy hat jumps off of the small platform ending in a couple steps leading down to the Porch.*
“Somebody ring the dinkster?”
*-was heard from the man’s mouth. Once it reached the guests, a hush fell over the crowd. They all knew what was happening. It was the Hostess’s autistic son. His biological father was a sheriff, and he always left the house with a stereotypical cowboy hat on, though he would take it off once he was clear of the house, as it wasn’t allowed at the police department, he just liked to bring a smile to his son. His son, not entirely able to talk yet due to his autism, pronounced ‘dad’ as ‘dink’, and eventually, the nickname ‘the dinkster’ stuck with him. The father would say “oh, I heard somebody ring the dinkster!” And blast off to his sheriff car, after giving his son a hug. Tragically, he died while trying to stop a robbery. The son was unable to cope with this due to his disability, and to cope, he would sometimes dress up in a cowboy outfit. For years he would do this, and as his disability hindered his ability to get, let alone hold a job, he lived at home with his parents: his mother and step father. This was going through the heads of everyone while they sat in silence, until the mother said:*
“No sweetie, the bell is broken, and it can’t be repaired…”