“Guess who I’m going to be for Halloween this year, Grandma,” prompts my eight-year-old, freckle-faced granddaughter. She likes to twirl her long, blond braids as she waits for me to answer.
“Hmm. A centipede or house fly?” I guess.
She giggles. “Noooooooo, Grandma! You’re so silly. Number 42, Jackie Robinson!”