"What?" I ask sipping wine.
"Having my birthday dinner with you," he grins reaching for the bill.
I'm so humbled I can't speak a word if I could think of one.
This is our first meeting.
We've known each virtually for six years after he wrote me on Facebook, opening his life to me in response to things I share in blogs.
Quickly, I find myself looking forward to our exchanges as we confess who we are and why we think we're here.
He's also on the mess that is my family flow chart .... being the grandfather of my son-in-law Sam.
"You know what I like," he mumbles during his birthday dinner before telling me the answer, "you don't call me 'Mr. Simmons' and we're just talk like two people talking."
It strikes me most talking is condescending on somebody's part.
Will's primary job these days is to care for his wife who made him promise many years ago that, should she quit the Nursing Program to marry him, he'd always take care of her.
He did.
With her dementia ... it's a full time job.
He can safely leave her for maybe two hours at a time.
Those are precious hours and he's given them to me ... on HIS birthday.
"Let's do this again," he says pulling himself up from the chair in the crowded restaurant.
"Anytime," I assure him.
"Next year ... on my birthday," he replies.
"Hell yeah," I say.
So it's a date.
In the meantime ... and this is just for you Buddy ... "Selah".
