Our two grandsons, along with John, were the original Twitchits. Their feet, at the end of long legs, were always looking for more real estate under the table. By the end of the summer, I could read the signs immediately. Their bodies would shift slightly as they calmly continued the dinner conversation over wrangling feet. If it got really bad, someone would begin to laugh.

You’d think, with David back in college, the two remaining Twitchits would have reached a truce. Not so! I went into the kitchen to get something and came back to find Nathaniel had appropriated two chairs, mine and the empty one across from me. I whipped the camera out, and Nathaniel kept the pose. Doing the splits in midair was painful. He moaned and groaned for the full effect until I finished a few seconds later.

Dinner ended with a tug-of-war with a chair. The combatants shrieked with laughter as Nathaniel lost ground because his socks slipped on the boards. The camera was on the table and jumped to attention. As the chair resumed its innocent position, Nathaniel declared, “You can’t publish that! That’s private! You can’t show it to anyone!”

A day later, I edited the clip to eight seconds and asked him to view it. He gave his verbal OK. If any of you tease him unmercifully, I will wish I had a written and signed agreement.