The old trophy languished in a locked cupboard. No one had thought of it for years, and they'd all forgotten why Gramps had won the thing.
They didn’t mean to forget, but they all had lives of their own, were out establishing their careers, establishing themselves. Even the youngest was about to graduate from college, and it wasn’t the sort of college where students aspired to sports trophies.
But one day someone wanted the cupboard for something, for storing business files, perhaps. So it was unlocked and they found the trophy and read the inscription:
Oldest student in the neighborhood martial arts class to qualify for a black belt, at the age of forty-two.
"Wow," they said.
Even the youngest, the one who didn't particularly care about physical competition said, "Wow, who would have thought that about Gramps? Didn't he die when he was forty-three?"
Posted for Magpie Tales, in which Tess of Willow Manor supplies a photo, and invites us to submit the story or poem the picture inspires.
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