Grandpa was crossing the parking lot slowly.

A driver waiting behind him honked.

Then shouted through the window:

“MOVE, OLD MAN!”

Grandpa stopped for a moment.

Then continued.

A second car pulled up.

The driver got out.

He walked toward Grandpa.

“Mr. Reynolds?”

Grandpa looked up.

The man hugged him.

Years earlier, Grandpa had coached him in high school.

The impatient driver watched.

Then the former student turned toward him.

“He walks slowly because his legs aren’t what they used to be.”

“But those legs stood beside hundreds of kids when they needed someone.”

The driver looked away.

Grandpa continued across the parking lot.

This time?

Nobody honked.