“Blow out the candles, Grandpa!”

Grandpa remained a kid at heart, even on his 89th birthday. In consideration of local fire codes and candles-to-cake-surface analysis, we forewent birthday candles. Yet when we told him, “Blow out the candles, Grandpa!” without missing a beat, he inhaled and prepared to extinguish the imaginary bonfire set before him.

Life doesn’t always give us what we wish, but for Grandpa things turned out pretty well. Those last fifteen candles almost didn’t make it even to an imaginary cake. I was still in junior high when Grandpa had a stroke. It was serious. Because of his determination to regain a normal life, though, within a few years we found him driving hundreds of miles to visit us for Thanksgiving or Christmas. One time he entered our house and promptly asked, “Where’s that darn cat?” Upon locating the cat, he beckoned, “Come here, darn cat!” Grandpa loved animals, and animals generally loved him. Grandpa’s cane became a new toy to use for playing with the cat.

As Grandpa’s face puckered, my mind raced to a time when we visited a local museum and opted to borrow a motorized wheelchair. Grandpa might have managed without one, but the chair served a legitimate purpose. Exploring the wheelchair’s top velocity and testing its maneuverability by doing donuts in the lobby probably only served to entertain me.

A hint of mischief complemented the kindness in his countenance as Grandpa blew toward the birthday cake. The flames went out. He got all eighty-nine on the first try.