My childhood home was a little lopsided. In fact, it was WAY lopsided in favor of the females. Poor Dad was on his own. My mom and my sisters and I didn’t offer much in the way of fishing fellows (“Eww… I’m not touching that worm!”), baseball buddies (“The Cincinnati Reds’ are on the radio AGAIN?”), or football fanatics (we went to the Ohio State Buckeyes games to see Brutus). Instead, he put up with princess parties, proms, and a pony. (It was really a horse, but I had a good alliteration thing going. ) Even the first grandchild was a girl. Eventually there came a grandson. Who, as boys tend to do, grew. And grew. And grew. Until at last…
My baby is getting older!
But my dad is getting younger.
On a beautiful Sunday in October a friendly game of basketball broke out.
Well, it was mostly friendly.
My sisters and I would have run crying to the house by now.
Yep. My dad waited a long time for this.
Last spring, my sister was kind enough to provide the family a second grandson.
And, he’s waited a long time for this.
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