Here’s an amazing thing: Our oldest grandson just turned 21. Twenty-one honkin’ years old. Not even in dog years, mind you; in people years. This is amazing, because I’m only 28, myself.
Having dodged the lightning bolt God sent down at me for lying, I continue with my post.
This oldest grandson and I have shared many jolly times through the years. When he was wee, we played with Legos together, until he had successfully smuggled all the wheels out of the house and we couldn’t make cars anymore, at which point he lost interest.
I used to read Beatrix Potter stories to him, especially The Tale of Samuel Whiskers, and “Make it properly, Anna Maria!” was our watchword for a while.
When he was a bit older, I taught him how to cook scrambled eggs and potato soup.
When he was a teen, we homeschooled him briefly, and I drew the short straw and had to “teach” him math, which he patiently endured while I floundered.
And now he is 21. So what could be more natural than for me to take him out to hoist a pint at Point Blank Brewing Company?
I suspect this isn’t the first pint he’s hoisted, since he knew exactly what he wanted to order.
I tried one of the brewed-on-the-premises ales — just a taste, fortunately, since I thought it tasted like Alka-Seltzer. When I declined a full glass, 72 Imperial was recommended, and I liked it very much. It’s dark and smooth and rich.
Dill and I swapped tastes, and I liked his Ayinger, too. I may get one of my own, the next time I go, although I may have to ask for a doggie canteen.
Isn’t he a handsome young man? He’s a sweetie, too. But I still want my Lego wheels back.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A character celebrates a grandchild’s birthday.
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