My grandkids are my pride and joy. They’re growing up too fast. Their presence touches my old heart. I wish this time could last.
As each was born into our clan, more proud, I couldn’t be. I hoped they’d grow up good and kind and want to be like me.
I grew up as a cowboy and rode horses every day. It’s what my family did for work and what we did for play.
But when I put them on my horse, their eyes grew wide with fear. They tried it just to please me, but made their feelings clear.
I’ve watched them bounce a basketball, play soccer all day long. A cowboy hat they will not wear. Each says it just feels wrong.
The other day one told me he thinks golfing’s kinda cool. Do I have the nerve to tell him? We call it pasture pool.
His dad bought him some new golf clubs. My grandson’s joy was loud. When I see him golfing with his dad, I couldn’t be more proud.
I’ll learn to swing a club, I guess, if that’s what it will take. I’ve swung an ax for sixty years and that’s a piece of cake.
I understand that cowboy boots are taboo on the green. And me in yellow golfing shorts? That might be called obscene.
My legs are bowed and show the wear from sitting in the saddle and hanging on for my dear life while cutting out the cattle.
Do any cowboys play this game? Some prob’ly do somewhere, but I think I’ve talked myself right out of golfing anywhere.
Could they use a golf cart driver? I’d sit behind the wheel. Just to be there near my grandkids, for me would be ideal.
But, no matter if they’re at my side or with the golfing crowd, my grandkids are the world to me. I couldn’t be more proud.