Ruth and I hung out with Brady and Eva last week-end. Ruth arrived on Thursday evening and I arrived the next day. Before I rolled into town on Friday, Ruth drove Brady to a neighboring town for a gathering of seventh and eighth grade students. Brady is going to be a freshman in the fall so I’m not sure if he crashed the party or if last year’s eight graders are still eligible. In any case, he went.
I know only what I have been told about the evening. Students from seven or eight different schools were welcome to attend. Brady went by himself, but I believe that he planned to meet a couple of friends. The evening began at seven and ended at ten. The age of the attendees dictated that parents would transport the students to and from the venue.
As soon as Ruth picked Brady up, he began “texting”. Ruth asked, “Are you texting the kids that you were just with?”
“Yes.”
That was the bulk of the conversation on the trip home. Brady wrote “texts”. Ruth, AKA Nana, drove.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Eva and I waited for the duo to return.
As soon as they arrived, I started asking questions. “Did you have a good time?” “Were there a lot of kids there?” “What did you do?” “Have you been to this place before?” “What kind of activities did they have?” “Did you dance?”
Brady and I had the discussion that I expect Ruth would have liked to have on their ride home. She learned a lot from our exchange.
He did have a good time and there were a lot of kids. They were from several schools throughout the area. Brady played basketball, did a lot of talking, and he danced. In fact he “slow danced” four times. With additional inquiry I learned that he danced “with four different girls”.
When I asked how he held the girls when they danced I offered two options. First, I 
gestured with one hand in the air and one hand wrapped around his partner’s back in what some would call a traditional dance hold. Second, I offered a gesture indicating that he had his two arms wrapped around his partner’s waist.
Brady is a wrapper. (He’s got long arms so I expect that he held his partner securely “in hold”.)
We had a early start on Saturday so I cut the interrogation short. I was happy that he was willing to share his evening with us. I expect he has his share of secrets, but he’s always been willing to share his time with Ruth and me.
I drove Brady to his baseball tournament the next morning. He was looking forward to playing baseball for the next two days, and I was looking forward to watching him. During our drive, I returned to our conversation from the prior evening.
“Brady, what color hair did the girls that you danced with last night have?” I was trying to gain insight into my grandson’s inner thoughts. Was he locked in on a specific type or was he still open to options?
He thought for a moment before he replied. “Two had blonde hair, one had dark hair, and one was kinda in between.”
“Sandy colored?”, I asked.
“Yes.”
And then I asked, “Were they all from the same school?” His answer surprised me a bit. It was quick. It was sincere. It was something that his dad, or Uncle Mike, would have said a couple of dozen years ago.
“No. That would be some kind of crazy!”
It’s true. The apples don’t fall far from the tree.