Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved to go to his grandparents house.
In fact, he spent nearly every weekend over there. It was the greatest place in the universe.
One day, he was playing Superman--or maybe it was Batman & Robin-- either way, he had a towel safety pinned around his neck and was having a great time fighting the bad guys and flying thru the house, making super human leaps over the floor furnace in a single bound. As he flew thru the house, he pulled up in front of his grandmas bedroom window and saw his parents car pulling in the driveway. He immediately ceased being a Superhero and ran to his grandmother as fast as he could, crying all the way until she had him wrapped up in her apron--or maybe the blue dress with the big white buttons, his favorite--either way, he was at Grandmas house, which was the best place in the universe.
She knew why he was crying; it was time to go home. There had been many weekends just like this, and each time it snuck up on the little boy because he loved his grandma and being at her house so much-- why, quite naturally, it stood to reason that anyone else in his position would cry when they left. How could they NOT?
And so it would come to pass, tears, hugs, and the promise of next weekend. For the little boy it may as well have been forever, because that's what it felt like. He would look out the back window, tears burning his eyes, and wave to his grandma--and wait patiently until the next weekend--well, as patiently as a little boy of 3--or 4--or maybe 5--could be expected to wait.
It is nearly 50 years later. A little boy has a great time on a weekend with his grandparents and is very sad when they get ready to leave. Like the previous two weekends, the time snuck up on him and he saw them heading to the car in the driveway, packing to leave. His Momma tells him to come tell them goodbye. A moment before he was being a Superhero--Spiderman--or maybe Iron Man or Captain America--either way he was having a great time on his bicycle. His Grandparents hug him and tell him they will see him soon.
The Grandfather begins to cry. Why, quite naturally, it stood to reason that anyone else in his position would cry when they left. How could they NOT? He now understands his own grandparents must have felt this way, too. His eyes burn as he looks out the window at his bestest little buddy.
The Momma rolls her eyes. The grandma rolls her eyes. Grandfather and grandson wipe their eyes. A popsicle for the grandson, a cherry coke and bag of pork rinds for the grandfather. Their pain eases for the time being....
And as it comes to pass, I will wait patiently for the next weekend--well, as patiently as a man of 50--or 51 looking at 52--is expected to wait.
It already feels like forever.
