The musings of a madman...

       When I was little, I was always stoked to spend time with my granddad… At surface-level, he would come home from work in the mornings and during the summer we would be at the house already while mom was at work. Before sleeping his day off, we would go with him to play tennis on the courts at the high school around the corner from his house. We would go to the park across the street and hit golf balls. On Sunday mornings, he would take us to this little greasy spoon diner for breakfast.      During all of these excursions, he would talk to my brother and I. We would learn whether the words coming were from a positive or a corrective place depending solely on whether he started with “son” or “boy,” respectively. One time when we were about twelve we were at the diner having breakfast almost as soon as he came home from work, as in he didn’t even bother with changing clothes, when he looked over his coffee cup and says “y’all make sure, more than anything, you take care of y