The Canada geese were on the knoll between the soccer field and the pond.
Grandpa’s energy to feed the geese was gone. Deontae took the bag of snack mix from Grandpa’s lap and sidearmed it onto the grass.
Geese waddled, gulls swooped. Grandpa smiled.
They usually talked baseball, and sporadic, random memories Grandpa had, and Grandpa almost always initiated.
But he was fading and his senses were failing. Hard to talk about a baseball game you could barely see or hear.
Looking at the old man and his labored breathing just sitting in a wheelchair, Deontae knew his mom’s dad wouldn’t make it to Labor Day.
“He’s a tough old buzzard,” Deontae’s mom would say, so Deontae asked a tough question.
“Any regrets, Gramps? In life?”
Grandpa started chuckling.
“Gimmie a category. I probably have one for each, whatever ya got.”
“I don’t know Gramps. Work, women, places you would have liked to see, freedoms, opportunities you would have loved to have had as a young man.”
Grandpa twisted his watchband. He had done it ever since Deontae could remember. Something he did while he thought.
Deontae was touched that the old man was really thinking about his question.
Finally, with a warm smile, he said “I always hoped Close Encounters of the Third Kind would come true. I still hope that, I guess. Get on a ship, go see another galaxy, see how they do things there.”
“Damn, Gramps, I had no idea you were into space travel.”
“Not really enthralled by the travelin’ part,” Grandpa said. “But I just know, in my heart, that if they came here in peace and welcomed beings different than them onto their vessel, then their own planet must be a peaceful place too.”
Deontae kissed his grandfather on the top of his bald head as he watched a goose and a gull fight over a cheese puff.
***
Photo by Ben Collins on Unsplash
I like the kiss on the bald head bit at the end...
Wouldn't that be great.