He scowled, perspiration dripping over his heavy-set body. His waist bulged over the top of his baggy jeans which were stuffed into the tops of scuffed, reddish brown work boots. He looked up at the other people sitting at tables and benches in the heat. Nervously, he lowered his eyes again. One leg stretched out lazily in front of him. A worn, red baseball cap covered shaggy, dishwater blonde hair falling thickly over his ears. The brim was pulled down shading his eyes, squinted tight in the sunlight.

If Grandpa gets heatstroke, where is the first aid station again? He should have asked Brian to come up here, not me! Brian’s a kid. He’d have loved this.

Greg wiped the sweat from his lips. Memories of this time last year flooded his mind. Sweat had beaded up on his dry lips that day, too. Red, their big chestnut roan, was loaded in the trailer just like always when Dad pulled out for competitions. Greg thought it was for another rodeo. Dad leaned out the window of the beat up truck and said, “See ya ‘round, Boy,” tipping his Stetson.

He blinked away the hot liquid emotion threatening to spill out from behind his eyes. Man, I feel so idiotic just sitting here! His thoughts meandered with the people passing by. They look like mom’s flowers.

“Grandpa, did mom garden with you when she was my age? I- I just wondered.” Grandpa nodded, reaching a gnarled, work-worn hand into his pocket for a cotton handkerchief.

“She was …impatient at first. But, seeing the results I think she grew to love it. It can be tough, though. It requires lots of attention, ‘specially,” he continued as he mopped his forehead, “in this drought and heat. Hard times and changes seem to affect every living thing, don’t you think?” Grandpa locked eyes with Greg.

Greg thought about his mom and adjusted his dad’s old red cap. He shifted awkwardly. Grandpa had caught him off guard. “I guess so.” He offered.

He looked at the people by the concession stand. Some were eating ice cream. So normal. He’d wondered more than once this last year how life could just go on like normal.

This is a colossal waste of time! With that thought, a thousand little irritants assaulted his senses. It’s dusty. My nose itches. He rubbed it. It’s ridiculously bright! The stillness is smothering me.

“It’s just, lately, it seems useless putting in so much effort in the garden. Mom’s plants just wilt no matter how hard we try.” Greg snarled like a trapped tiger. He felt hemmed in. “It’s such a waste of time.” He ended weakly.

“Greg,” Grandpa’s sparkling blue eyes narrowed. “When you were younger, I remember your mom reading a book to you about a little prince. Do you remember?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.”

“Well, there was a pretty smart fox in that book that said, ‘It is the time wasted for your rose that makes it so important’ or something like that.”

Mentally, he adjusted to feeling Grandpa’s hope. He’s always had time for us. Grandpa makes time.

The guidance counselor had told Greg he should learn to control his time rather than it controlling him. The counselor had warned him about motion without direction. He had no idea what that meant. But if he pulled his grades up, he might still earn some FFA awards. He needed a scholarship in two years.

Growing plants, building things, running the hardware store, loving Grandma, raising his mother – Grandpa ordered his time well. Greg wanted a life like that.

“Say,” A slow smile spread across Grandpa’s face. “What time is it?”

Greg sat up straight, glanced at his watch, and reported. He’d spent a large portion of his first paycheck on a new “cool” watch. Grandpa knew Greg was proud of it.

“Hmm. Seems like we just got here doesn’t it?” the older man sighed with a grin. Greg sensed Grandpa’s need for motion. With effort, he stood. Greg rose, too.

“I heard about the visit to the school counselor.”

“She’s trying to teach me to structure my time better.” Greg quietly commented. His lips pressed together in sad frustration as he kicked a rock softly. Grandpa saw he had struck a nerve.

“You know, ever since I first held your mother, I knew I’d found the secret to making time stand still.” Raising his eyes, Greg wiped the back of his hand across the peach fuzz coating his upper lip. Grandpa noticed. Greg felt his cheeks burn and quickly dropped his hand.

“Seems like you’re showing signs of the times, Gregory.” Grandpa chuckled. “When I was your age, seemed like time was either creeping when it should be running or running when it should be crawling.” Greg walked and listened.

“I love this place; the animals, the plants, all of it. Think about this. Where else can we share power and beauty, danger and frailty, wonder and mystery in such an amazing variety and balance? Making this controlled wilderness available – well, that takes time and planning. Take the tigers for example. That habitat is no accident. It takes passionate, careful preparation and continued care. It’s intentional.”

Greg absorbed the words as they ambled along. Intentional. His grandfather never seemed to come right out and say anything. He wrapped everything in a story.

“Grandpa, how did you learn to manage your time so well?” Greg stopped at a stand and bought a Diet Coke for his grandfather and a lemon ice for himself.

Grandpa, as always, noticed. “Thank you, Gregory; very kind and generous.” Greg flushed. His shoulders looked like a weight was lifted just watching his grandfather enjoy a drink he purchased from his own wages. He awkwardly jabbed the plastic spoon into the iced dessert. They walked on silently until they stood in front of the tiger exhibit.

“Don’t know exactly what led me to every choice I made.” Grandpa kind of breathed in the sentence, then exhaled. “But, I figure we’re all given 24 hours a day, right? We get so many days a week, weeks a month, months a year. Figure out what really matters. What do you want to be remembered for, Greg?” Grandpa paused to listen and looked out the exhibit window.

“I’m not sure, sir.” Greg confessed. He adjusted the old red cap and sighed. He thought of his father. He looked at his grandfather and his pulse quickened. “But I have to find out.” He ran his hand across the wooden rail before the glass plate as they watched the tigers pace.