My two-year old grandson, Paxton, likes to check me over when I go to visit. Like a horse trader who is about to buy a new horse, he opens my mouth to see if I have any missing teeth. I do. He tells me about it. He checks my eyes and pulls on my ears.
He gently runs his finger over wrinkles on my face. He pulls on moles and a small skin tag below my neck.
His eyes are so good he doesn't miss a thing. Still, with all my blemishes and signs of aging, he loves me just the same,