Take Good Care of My Baby

More than a song by Bobby Vee, it is the whispered hope of the grandmother when she sees the grandchildren paddle off onto the vast St. Johns in a red canoe. True, their dad is at the stern and their grandfather at the helm. True, a canoe is great non-petrol transport. All true. Still, I wait with the mom on the bulkhead until they return from the visit to Aunt Nancy. They have had a memorable afternoon. It must not have been too terrifying because one of them lay down and went to sleep in the canoe. I read somewhere that no child feels fear until s/he sees it on the face of the mother ( grandmother?) I don't want them to know how fearful I am. I smile.