Look, Pa, there goes Grandpa’s ghost!
Editorial: Yesterday I was sitting in an airport Sbarro with my daughter at a small table along the edge of a concourse. We were sitting face-to-face. Walking towards us from behind my daughter I spied an older man with a slight limp, wispy gray hair, and tortoise-rimmed glasses. He was carrying a well-loved canvas tote and wore a familiar uniform: frayed khaki pants, pinpoint dress shirt, well-worn leather lace-up shoes, and of course a double-breasted navy blue blazer with bright gold buttons. Instantly I saw my father. I smiled to myself and thanked him silently for his visit. I also made the mental note that my father is a traveler in death and that it was idiotic of me to visualize him holed up in the firmament. As the traveler came abreast of our table, passed, and then entered my daughter’s field of vision she called out, Look, Pa, there goes Grandpa’s ghost! This dear child barely knew her grandfather and certainly never traveled with him. I smiled again. There went Grandpa’s ghost.