Grandpa,
some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn't move, just sat
with his head down staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him he didn't
acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat, I wondered if he was OK. Finally,
not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time,
I asked him if he was OK. He
raised his head and looked at me and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank
you for asking," he said in a clear strong voice. "I
didn't mean to disturb you, Grandpa, but you were just sitting here staring at
your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK," I explained to him. "Have
you ever looked at your hands," he asked. "I
mean really looked at your hands?"
I
slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up
and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I
tried to figure out the point he was making. Grandpa smiled and related this
story:
