Fresh Perspective

As I pulled up to the Weis house, after a very long day of driving and work--our first 95 degree day of the season, Spencer looped up on his bike.

"Hi, Gramp!", he called.

"Where you you been?", I asked him.

"At baseball."

"Are you alone?", I asked, intending to learn whether Gail and Marty and Sophie were on their way home, too.

"No. Keyshawn and Brent are coming." They came, as loopy as Spencer.

"This is my Gramp,", Spencer told them. "His name is Conrad. This is Keyshawn, and this is Brent."

Good job, I thought.

I was sweaty, dog-tired, and disheveled. I guess it was obvious.

"It has been a long day," I said. "I really need a shower."

"Well, Keyshawn said, "it's good that you remain active."

Every other foot, I thought. Left, right, left, right. Lean forward. Left, right, left.

It's good, at seventy-nine, to remain.

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