My grandfather passed away last night. Some of you who have been reading the blog for a long time may remember this story. I always enjoyed our times together playing pool, and this is how I think I will always remember him. Rest in peace, Grandpa. You are loved. There’ll be no post tomorrow (and we’ll see about Thursday).
Robert leaned against the basement staircase, patiently waiting for his grandfather to line up his shot.
As always the shot was a combination. Grandpa liked to show off, but he had a lot of reason to. He claimed that he looked the whole table over, looking for the easiest shot to make, but Robert suspected the opposite was true. Frequently the cue ball would bounce off the side of the table before angling back to its intended target, or strike several balls before the final one rolled into the pocket.
The table was small, less than half regulation size, nestled away in the basement. Robert would lean against the stairs or sometimes a small bookshelf waiting for his turn, not sure if he would get one. He would sip ginger ale from a heavy glass with a diamond pattern, the imprint pressing slightly into his hand. The game was informal, but…
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