Many years ago, I knew an old man named Regret. He was 93 years old, had to walk with two canes and weighed less than a hundred pounds. When young, he'd been a cowboy; later he was a rancher. He was a treasure, had wonderful stories to tell and had a heart of gold.
Regret was born in 1931. His mother gave birth to him at home and died moments after he was born. Her final word was, "Regret."
His father blamed him for his mother's death and named the boy, "Regret." Regret grew up with the curse that he had caused his mother's death. His father hated him and mistreated the boy.
Regret had a broth...
