I booked a
seven-day vacation at a seaside resort.
My daughter, Sarah, was furious.
“Mom, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to travel alone at your age?”
My son, Michael, was even more direct.
“And what if something happens to you? Who’s going to take responsibility?”
I simply smiled.
“I’ve managed to survive for sixty-two years. I think I can take care of myself for another seven days.”
The day after arriving at the resort, I met Daniel.
He was around sixty years old and unusually thin. His arms were
almost skeletal, his cheeks were sunken, and his wide smile gave his face a strangely boyish appearance.
He approached me while I was struggling to drag my beach chair across the sand.
“Let me help you,” he said.
I laughed.
“You look like you could use some help yourself.”
He laughed too.
We spent a long time talking that day.
