Dinner conversations with my grandparents

My 95-year-old grandpops is at it again, being all cute and adorable.

Just the other night, I had dinner with my family, grandparents and my uncle’s family. My father will be going to a shooting range this weekend with one of his friends in the army and he asked us if we wanted to come along. Of course we wanted to, but that’s not the point because this happened next:

My twin sister, Kathlyn, jokingly asks my grandmother, “Do you want to come with us to the shooting range?”

“Why would she?” asks my grandfather, already with the kind of grin that means something witty is about to be said.

My sister replies, “You’ll learn how to protect yourself in case bad things happen.” Again, joking.

“She doesn’t need that… She knows judo.”

My grandmother doesn’t know judo. She cooks the meanest fried chicken in the world, but she could never inflict physical pain or any other kind of pain on anyone. Everyone in the table laughs because, come on, judo?

Then my grandfather turns to his wife of 65 wonderful years and says, “Is judo bad? Why did you kick me just now?”

She laughs, and then she kisses him.

And then we laugh, and I quietly thank God for giving me the honor of being their grandchild.

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