I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but Grandpa is a new one.
We were at the playground this morning in a vain attempt to beat the Memorial Day heat when another dad with the same thought showed up with his daughter. 3B was running around in his pink sleeveless shirt, his long red hair rising in a corolla around his head, lifted by the static electricity from multiple trips down the plastic slides.
The other dad kept referring to him as “her” and “she” and I really don’t care, and half of the time 3B wants to be a girl anyway, so he certainly doesn’t mind.
Finally, however, we were talking about our kids, and I thought, “Here it comes.” Sure enough, after exchanging pleasantries about each of them, the other dad asked, “So, is that your daughter?” As I opened my mouth to explain, he followed up, “Or is that your granddaughter?”
“Actually, that’s my son.”
Maybe, after 24 years, it’s time to shave this
red gray beard of mine. And next month, you may have a chance to force me to do that, or engage in other depilatory activities…more on that next month…er…tomorrow.
I’m working to make cancer history. Will you help me?