“Why are you going that way?” Grandma called across the yard.
“Where are you going, Dad?” my aunt asked at almost the exact instant.
Grandpa looked up in surprise. He’d been shuffling carefully with his cane across the lawn and was currently in the process of avoiding a driftwood-looking chunk of splintered tree branch. Moments before, he’d poked at the branch in the middle of his son’s front yard then looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “What kind of lawn care is this?” he’d asked. Grandpa proudly maintains a meticulous lawn, or did before his hip got so bad. The reply on the tip of my tongue—“His dad must not have taught him how to do the job right!”—was interrupted by concerns about the trajectory of his steps.
“I was just going to the front door,” he replied softly.
“Oh! Don’t go that way! The party’s around the back,” Grandma informed him.
Without a word, he slowly changed course and headed for the backyard. My husband fell into step beside him. “Here’s a piece of advice,” Grandpa said under his breath as the two men walked side by side. “When she tells you to do something,” he paused, lifted his cane, and pointed at me, “you don’t ask questions. You just do it.”
© Angela M. Adams