Fourscore and several hundred years ago, when our kids were still so very tiny (in other words, last week), I was sitting in my old brown reposer (some would call it "recliner") in the living room in Waukesha, lost in my studies, as per usual.
My precious, multi-tasking wife sat on the couch across the room, talking avidly on the phone while tending to the ongoing needs of a toddler or two (as per usual).
I suddenly became aware she was trying to get my attention. Without ever the slightest pause in her animated conversation, she calmly and deliberately waved me over to her side of the room, and motioned for me to hold out my open hand to receive.
I complied, of course, as dutiful husbands will do; and watched, in stunned silence, as she, never missing a syllable or breaking a smile, nonchalantly wiped a juicy booger freshly harvested from the nose of one of my adorable children into the palm of my naked, waiting hand.
She went on with her conversation. I fled to find the Kleenex.
I was reminded of this yesterday, as I was taking care of my best bud Elliot (or Aiott, or "Little Dude Guy") in our newer Virginia living room.
There I was, in my newer and bluer reposer, minding my own business, when my young charge purposefully sauntered across the room towards me. Something in his intent expression made me think, "I've been here before."
He clearly wanted to give me something. I held out my hand obediently before I had the chance to realize why this feeling of deja vu.
And my adoring grandson wiped into the palm of Zayde's unconditionally accepting hand the fruit of his latest excavations.
If I didn't know better, I'd say it was the same booger.
It was certainly the same exact facial expression as his plotting ancestor, so many moons ago!
What is it they say about the apple falling from the tree?