When Papa arrived, I'd always show him how I could tapdance on the hard floor of the doorway. I couldn't really do it; it was just making loud sounds with my feet. Papa smiled though, then he did it himself, even before he had time to put his briefcase down.
He moved like my parents moved. He was a young person, then, able to twist his hips and bend his knees, and when he laughed he didn't stare straight ahead, he'd lean back and offer his mouth up.
This is turning into me comparing him to how he is now, which is not what I want to do. I don't want to describe the aging process. He's still the same wise man.