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The Story:
He would rebuild the pile of leaves every few jumps. To his grandson, there was no such thing as having too many of them. And he was in luck because for every golden leaf that was crushed beneath him, it seemed there were two more to replace it with, an endless supply.
He had been raking for an hour, making mound after mound, but his grandson’s jumping enthusiasm seemed to only be increasing. Watching the child play kindled a long forgotten memory that he had abandoned decades ago—youth.
Once upon better knees, a straighter back, and more lubricated joints, he was young. But the energy he felt back then was no longer a part of him. If he had known how vaporous his youth would be, he would have been more active. He thought about the world he had heard was out there and how he had missed his chance to jump around in it. When was the last time he had jumped for fun?
“Come on, grandpa!”
His grandson interrupted his daydreaming.
“Oh, I’m sorry, young man,” he said as he began raking up more leaves.
“No, grandpa!”
The boy rolled out of the pile and grabbed his grandfather’s hand.
“Jump with me!”
He chuckled at the thought.
“I can’t jump, Danny. I’m old.”
“Old people can’t jump?”
“Well, I don’t know, but this one can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m too frail. I could get hurt.”
Danny ran across the yard, grabbing fistfuls of leaves and tossing them onto the pile.
“I make it softer for you, grandpa!”
He laughed, wondering if such a selfless heart was bound by youth. For that matter, was laughter a youthful trait? He could still laugh. He knew plenty of others that couldn’t.
Finished with throwing on more leaves, his grandson called for him from the other side of the pile.
“Jump, grandpa!”
At that moment, he decided that aging was to some extent a choice that we make. He jogged at the pile and hopped onto the top, causing an explosion of leaves. He and Danny laughed together at how ridiculous he looked.
But he felt that spark of youth again, and he would be choosing to feel it more.
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