Waiting for my son to leave track practice, I grabbed the newspaper from the passenger seat. I turned Sports Talk on the radio. Tomorrow was Opening Day and baseball news filled the air. I smiled.

A few minutes later, my teenage son arrived at the car. Entering, he had a startling observation. “Dad, no kidding, but you looked so old sitting there. Reading the paper, listening to baseball on the radio, sitting in your old car. You’re even squinting.”

I was about to defend myself. Things like, “Hey, my car is from this century,” and stuff like that, but I resisted. Why bother? Did it really matter that I looked old? I was happy. Opening Day was tomorrow. Spring was almost at hand. Age didn’t seem to matter much. Besides, most of the Sports Section still waited for my wanting eyes, no matter their degree of squint.