Also, my grandfather never visited my gymnastics club, watched at the window and chattered with my sister while I leaped and spun and waved my strong bare legs toward God’s high heaven.

(That’s 11-year-old Grandgirl on the roll-y ball. And that’s 5-year-old Grandgirl with Paulson. A quick trip we made the other week allowed us the opportunity to go see.)

Maybe things were better in the good old days, or maybe not. This isn’t about that. Just, times change. The generations pass. It’s our chance now and we’re taking it.

 

 
 


 


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