“If anybody tells you something is prohibited, ask for the rule number.”
My daughter’s eyes widened.
After she left:
“She’s one of your people.”
“I don’t have people.”
“You absolutely have people.”
We laughed.
My daughter later had a child.
A girl.
My first granddaughter.
The day I held her, my daughter said:
“No sports cars.”
“She is four hours old.”
“Promise.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“Toy?”
“No.”
“Blue?”
“Especially no.”
The granddaughter grew up around a grandfather who owned a ridiculous blue Lamborghini until she was eight.
At five, she knew only the family version.
“A silly man put chicken feathers on Grandpa’s car.”
At seven, she asked:
“Why?”
“Because he was angry.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Yes.”
At nine, she saw the video online.
Someone had reposted it with dramatic music.
She came into my living room holding a tablet.
“Grandpa.”
I looked.
“Oh no.”
“Why are you in pajamas?”
I stared.
“That’s what you noticed?”
She laughed.
Then replayed.
Her face changed when the son shoved my arm.
Then when he said:
“My mom runs this neighborhood.”
She paused.
“Did he think that was true?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because for a while, people acted like it was.”
“What changed?”
I thought.
“Enough people stopped.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Was he bad?”
I smiled slightly.
“He did a bad thing.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Children are ruthless philosophers.
“He was acting badly.”
“He had bad ideas.”
“He was arrogant.”
“He said racist things.”
“Did he stay bad?”
“No.”
“How know?”
“Because later he made different choices.”
She thought.
“Did you forgive him?”
I laughed.
“That question survives generations.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means adults ask it too much.”
She frowned.
“So?”
I looked at the tablet.
Then at her.
“I stopped needing him to remain the worst thing he did.”
“Is that forgiving?”
“Maybe part.”
She nodded, satisfied enough.
The son contacted me again thirteen years after the vandalism.
Email subject:
You’ll appreciate this
I almost did not open.
Curiosity.
He wrote:
My wife and I bought a house in an HOA.
I laughed immediately.
He continued:
First month we got a violation because a stroller was visible on the porch. I nearly lost my mind. Then I remembered your driveway.