My uncle Bill is an old man. He was always old. He was 60 when I was born. I remember being small and holding his hand while walking in our street. It was soft and wrinkled. His hair was white. It would stick straight up on his head when I played with it.My dad moved away when I was 7 sau my uncle raised me like a father.
“Hey, your grandad’s waiting for you outside,” my primary-school classmates sometimes said.
He is very kind and after my aunt died he moved with us to take care of me and my mom.
He is ill and everybody loves him and takes care of him as he did to us.
