I saw this old man eating his lunch today with shaky hands and I couldn't stop thinking about my grandpa. And though his hands would never shake while eating (because he is like the food equivalent to my best friend's grandfather who had Parkinson's disease and yet never spilled a drop of his martini) this old man just reminded me so much of him. The slightly stooped yet proud posture, the oddly formal clothing, the carefully combed hair. I just wanted to crawl in his lap and kiss the top of his head, breath that old man smell.
I had to remind myself that if I did that I would likely be arrested or . . .fondled. But it was touch and go there for a moment.
I miss my grandparents. Him more than her in a horrible way mainly because she really just likes to make us all feel horrible. Where he just enjoys us while he can. My grandmother is a wonderful woman and everything a grandma should be yet I am my grandpa's favorite. And every child should get to be some one's favorite. And he is the kindest, most gentle soul I have ever been lucky to meet.
The old man saw me watching him and asked me for directions to his bank. I walked him there, I didn't want him to get lost. I know that when I do that, when I care for some one else's grandpa, some one will take care of mine.