My husband refused to walk my 17-year-old daughter, his stepdaughter for nine years, at her high school senior night. “That’s something a real father should do,” he told her. But when her name was announced Thursday evening, her 79-year-old grandfather appeared with his walking cane and proudly accompanied her onto the court.

On our second date, he asked if he could meet Kaylee.

Not to impress me.

He said he wouldn’t keep seeing a woman with a little girl unless the little girl was all right with him being around.

Kaylee interviewed him at the kitchen table like a county commissioner.

Did he have a dog? Did he know how to braid hair? Did he like the Twins?

He said yes, no, and only when they win.

He learned to braid hair that summer.

He practiced on a length of orange baler twine tied to a cabinet knob out in the seed shed.

I know, because I walked in on him doing it once. He turned red all the way to his ears.

We got married when she was eight. She called him Travis then. She calls him Travis now.