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.
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