Yesterday

I remember making a snowman as a kid, its arms a stick, and the family dog bouncing up and down trying hard to get it. There's a photo buried in an old box somewhere. Seems a thousand years ago now, and almost like someone else's memories at times.

Funny, how the days lasted forever, and everything seemed so vastly important. Now, as an adult, the priorities are overwhelming, clocks needing to be punched, honey do's to do, and errands inbetween - there seems to be no time to remember the 'ol days of youth.

In the spring my own daughter will deliver her first child. Another mile stone on the road of experiences; becoming a grandfather. As a kid I seldom got to visit my own non-Jehovah's Witness family members. When we did, the visits were brief, and now those mental images are just a blur of smoke. I loved my grandparents, but I didn't have much of an example to observe. With all the "thou shalt nots" of our religious slant then, our contact was limited at best.
I think I'll be a fine grandfather; just spoil 'em and give back, do all the things I wish my grandfather could have done, be a story teller, and an example worth being remember. What else can anyone hope for. The good 'ol days weren't really all that good, and today aint half bad, now that I think of it.