Recently, my daughter’s family came for a visit.
One evening, the three younger grandkids, a girl and two boys, ages 8, 6, and 4, took turns running around the house while I sat on the porch and timed each race. In between these sprints, they climbed trees, the granddaughter danced and sang a song from the old flick “High Society” on the porch, the boys dashed around the yard shooting off cap pistols, which were impressively loud, and I sat in my chair, feeling exhausted just from watching this spectacle. Minutes later found me with the two boys in the backyard, popping off a BB gun with a white paper cup atop a cardboard box as the target.
