His mustard-stained tee shirt is shaped like an upside-down inflated balloon. It being so bright a shade of yellow, seems fitting, and one like me wonders if the little feller left any mustard in the bottle. His fingers are angle worm dirt smudged. He has one dry tennis shoe, and one soaked, the kids a mess, and he has the biggest smile a five-year-old boy can flash.
Grampa, can we go to the dock, grampa stretches out his hand clasps the little guys and off we go, first looking in the live well, yup two walleyes still there, then he wants to look into the minnow bucket, visual inventory taken he looks up at grampa and asks, when’s gramma coming back.
Grampa smiles at him and says probably pretty soon so we better get you cleaned up. Up at the hand pump he gets his hands and face washed off, the well water must be cold, the boy is giggling and cahooting about it.
A fresh tee shirt, recent birthday gift from his folks, a Minnesota Twins shirt, grampa says, we need to keep this clean ok, ok grampa, off with the shoes, off with the socks, dons a new set, grampa says, your tennis shoe will dry soon ok, ok grampa. Gramma drives in, he runs up to her, she says, My you look so spiffy. Grampa made me spiffy gramma.
--The trout whisperer
