Sixty Eight Weeks

Conversation with my four-year-old grandson Max. “I cannot throw the ball one more time, Max. I am old.” He glares at me. “No, you’re not.” “I am. I really am.” I throw the ball ten more times. “I mean it Max, I have to stop. I am tired. I have a cough.” “No you don’t.” “Yes, I really do.” He comes closer and looks at me hard. I try to cough, putting myself into an explosive coughing fit. He gives a couple of fake coughs. We stare at each other. “I’ve had my cough for three whole weeks, “ I tell him. “How long have you had your cough?” Brown eyes look at me closely. “Sixty-eight weeks,” he says smoothly. I keep throwing the ball.