“You’re the monster,” she commanded and I growled and chased her down a hallway — sharp turn into the office and out again. My granddaughter 3; me 71.

What’s fun about it is going back to when there were no obstacles, no problem that couldn’t be solved only by wishing it. She wants a cracker I’m having with soup.

“Five cents,” I say. She’s exasperated and jams her hand into a make-believe pocket to produce an imaginary nickel. After the third repetition of this, I have to think of a new difficulty, after all, what kind of grandfather would I be if I didn’t teach my progeny about the hardship of life? She wants another cracker.

“All gone,” I say. She swirls her hands in the air in front of her face and hands more crackers to me. Slick as a whistle. She’s going to learn, no doubt, that life is not that easy, but for now, I really would be a monster if I took away her innocence.


15 Fairview St.