On my last morning in New Orleans at the end of March, I took Leo, our twelve-year-old grandson, out to breakfast. We had wanted to go to New Orleans, just the two-of-us, but when his whole family decided to go there for their spring break, that was OK with us. But I still wanted some Leo-to-myself-time.
The perfect moment came when Jeremy took Leo’s brother Grady to breakfast for some special father-son time and we wanted Katrina to have some well-deserved Katrina time.
Leo and I talked about school and his teachers—who he liked, who he didn’t like so much. We talked about his future as a soccer goalie and his future, probably in business. We talked about his grandfather, and how he had liked working in computer science when the field was new.
Already taller than I am, and expected to grow to at least six feet-four inches, I wondered how much longer he will want to share some special time with his grandmother like we had my last morning in New Orleans.