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Show 7fl "I love you, Grandpa." Her strong, clear voice breezed through the window along with the sweetness of freshly-mowed grass. It was the first seasonably-warm day of the year. He took her face in his hands. "I know darling. And I love you. Listen, Grandpa wants you to remember something: After I am gone, you must never forget who you are and what you stand for." 'Remember who we are.' The words sounded off walls of memory my whole life long. It had been an injunction to behave properly, to lower voices and giggle less, to play fairly and love kindly, to be chaste, benevolent and true. Somehow I had forgotten who I was along the way, and was only now rediscovering it. "I won't forget Grandpa,'4 Becky said. "But don't go for a long time yet." I watched him carefully as a familiar expression passed over his face, the tiny transsecting lines of pain at parting that I'remembered from the time he kissed me goodbye when we left the white house. He hurried off to his oar and I thought sadly how old and stooped he was growing. A oold spot quickly suffused the sadness in my ohest and grew until I shivered and dried my hands, going to the front door to wave, perhaps to oatoh him in the driveway and kiss him one more time. But he was gone. Monday morning I golfed with Dierdre. 1 had thought to leave at lunchtime and visit my father, since I had been given leave to his time. But on oalling my mother, I found that he was staying with one of the new wives - he was taking Mondays |