(from July 22, 2010)
My 90 year Abuelo sits next to me on the shallow pool steps on a
cloudfree hot July afternoon.
The kids dance and splash and invite us to join their game involving
coconuts and shrieking.
He turns to me and says (unapologetically) "Ive had enough fun."
I smile at him, he continues, "I mean it. 90 years of fun is enough.
Put that in your book. I'm serious."
I nod my head at the gravity of the moment, promising him I'd write it
somewhere for him.
After that, we joined the kids in their coconut-laughing game anyway.
My 90 year Abuelo sits next to me on the shallow pool steps on a
cloudfree hot July afternoon.
The kids dance and splash and invite us to join their game involving
coconuts and shrieking.
He turns to me and says (unapologetically) "Ive had enough fun."
I smile at him, he continues, "I mean it. 90 years of fun is enough.
Put that in your book. I'm serious."
I nod my head at the gravity of the moment, promising him I'd write it
somewhere for him.
After that, we joined the kids in their coconut-laughing game anyway.
