#268

I wore Michael's shoes the other day. It could be fleeting, but right now we're the same size and I have a burgeoning selection of footwear at home. There's a pair of Nike Free Flyknit something-or-others (probably $130) that are amazingly comfy and snazzy. And if I stumble into a bball game, I'll be wearing Micheal's Lebron XIIs (price $150 at least). I can't afford tennies this lavish, but my son is spoiled by those who love him. Grandma and Papa buy him shoes every time he visits them. Or they visit him. Or the sun rises. I love my parents. And I love my son. They are a good match for each other.

By all accounts – and a photo I've seen – my great-grandfather was a handsome man. His name was Ben. In this old photo I speak of, the features of his face are perfectly formed, his eyes are striking, and he is coolly expressionless; it's the kind of handsome that would fit in a modern fashion or cologne ad. Ben's grandparents were off-the-boat Irish. When I was younger than M 'n' m, I remember visiting Grandpa Ben in a nursing home. He was no longer physically flawless. In fact, he was ancient and scary-looking and I was terrified as I was coaxed, by him and others, to approach his chair and give him a cookie. In his twilight, Ben was grumpy and ornery and fond of chewing tobacco, none of which endeared him to the awesome women in his life. But they loved him even more probably – and a woman I adore absolutely called him Daddy – and at least four girls I know prevented him from shuffling into traffic (in search of that tobacco). I hope I'm blessed this way, and many decades from now, on a random Sunday, a great-grandson thinks of me with gratitude and intrigue. I imagine Ben could tell me about old cars, guns, moonshine stills, and the world a hundred years ago. And, most importantly, Ben had an incredible wife and exceptional daughter. Those things I would really ask him about. Maybe someday I will.