My grandson still comes over on Sundays but the swing stays quiet now. He sits on the steps with his phone and I sit in the chair with my tea. Every so often I think about pulling out the arrest card and showing him the date again.

I stop myself before I do it. The grade is fixed and that is what matters to him now. But the questions are gone and I do not know how to get them back without making it worse for both of us.

I got the grade changed for him. The teacher knows what really happened in 1963 now. But I should have gone to that school without my grandson watching me do it.