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"The `friends' will provide mister." The girl looked older now that she was clean and dressed in one of Joey's sweat suits. "Things ain't ever gonna be the same. It's over. The grumps ain't gonna run the world anymore." She looked at me. There was a disturbing defiance in her bold, black eyes. "Besides, you can hear the gere calling. You ain't no dumbo." Her eyebrows arched into triangles. "Stop fighting it...you know what you got to do."

I walked down the front hall of St. Maddy's parting the buzzing parents like the Red Sea. I love being tall. There are all sorts of little ways that you get what you want. You can paint the ceiling without using a ladder. You can reach things without getting up. You can see over people in a crowd. All of these things are advantages in the simple everyday of life. Although I'm normally too clever to admit it, I excuse myself all sorts of character flaws in the face of my ability to look over the heads of others. That may be one of the reasons I never tried to make it to the pros. Who wants to be 6'6" and feel short?

Another reason is that no matter how big you are, there's always someone bigger, and in this case it was John Smith, Sr., Variety's husband, the original immovable object. John played tackle for University of Houston a few years back and takes good care of himself. He's not as tall as I am but he has the profile of an oil drum and arms like cedar trunks. I always pay attention when he talks.

He chuckled "My position is the same as yours Unc', step n' fetch it an run blocker. They'll be out in a minute. I'm sure they want to see you." Big John is a wildlife biologist. I leaned back against the lockers and asked him about his last trip to the desert, an expedition to find a fast disappearing predator called the black-footed ferret which, John had told me before he left, lives off prarie dog colonies. His eyes lit up but before he could get started, Variety stuck her head out the conference room door.