Zona

I awake to one of my favorite day off activities. It's 7AM which, to me, means that I have slept in 4 hours later than usual. I am sitting up in bed with my headphones on as Joni Mitchell reminds me how wonderful her music is. My wife is scurrying around getting ready for the baby she tends to arrive and making sure our two school children are up. I'm swaying, directing the music with my right hand when I feel a cold breeze that means the door to the bedroom has been opened. I open my eyes to behold my grandson at the side of the bed.

With my left hand I reach to caress his face. I make grampa to grandson sounds. I reach over to lift him on to my lap and we both sway to Joni. He needs a diaper change but right now it doesn't matter. He is blissfully oblivious to what I'm thinking as my arms are around him. He might have it hard. Certainly harder than his mother had it. I mean we had hard times but I stumbled into a good job and things were good. Mother says it wasn't a stumble. The wife prays earnestly. I've never felt it as more than luck.

But my kids had both parents around. No lawyers. No borderlines. No threat of separation.

His jammies are tucked into his socks and he wiggles his toes. I stroke his head back and kiss his forehead. It gives me cause to worry. I'm on the downhill side. Something Dustin Hoffman said in an interview sticks with me. He began to feel old when he realized that if he doubled his age it produced a number he probably would not live to see. Ninety six for me now.

My mother says it was god and not a stumble. My wife prays earnestly.

Let me have at least 20 more to make sure these kids are okay. I don't want to let them down. There has to be one good man in their lives with a future uncertain.

It gives me cause to worry.