The one who I'm sure only a few months ago sat in my living room, beaming, bed head, and wearing a Leafs one-sie ... he went and picked up the power cable for my laptop which I had forgotten at work. And by "went" I mean "drove".
The one who just recently peeked shyly out at me from within a white bonnet with the biggest ruffle around her face that you ever did see while we went on our annual turkey walk ... she's chatting about youth conferences and volleyball practices. And trying on Spike's rocker hat that he bought at the fair.
And the one who used to fit on my lap, stretched full length, head covered in shiny bronze curls, and a hint of mischief in his little blue eyes ... he casually made the bacon and toast for breakfast today, while I did the blueberry pancakes. (We shared some coffee too, but that's a secret. Don't tell.)
Later, a new game was invented. We used Papa's crokinole board. Crokinole was popularized in our family by Grandpa P., Papa's dad. Grandpa could get a sinker every darn time. He'd chuckle silently while I furrowed my brow, bit my bottom lip, held my breath and flicked. Then he'd then wait patiently for me to retrieve that little round piece of wood from underneath the woodstove (or wherever it had landed). Then he'd get another sinker.
This generation created a new version today. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ... Crokinole 2.0
Sometimes there are casualties.
But as long as you don't absent-mindedly chomp a round wooden disc instead of a Lays salt-&-vinegar chip, it's all good.
I think Grandpa would enjoy it.
