Down Through the Years

My five-four, bald-headed grandfather
once mused aloud that he didn’t know
why he married Frances, the woman
who bore him six children. There had
been so many other, prettier women in
his life. My grandmother was a pretty,
petite blond. I saw photos of her when
she was just a young woman. I have no
idea why my grandfather said what he
did, especially in front of a few of his
grandchildren. He should have kept the
thought to himself. It has not worn well
down through the years.


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