Favorite Son

Simmy was outside weeding the flower bed when the next door neighbor pulled up the driveway.
As he got out, Simmy turned and said hello. She noticed that he looked much too tired for a man his age.
"Did you just get home from work?" Simmy asked.
"No. I was driving 'Grandma' to the grocery store." 'Grandma' is his mother and his childrens' grandmother.
"You're a good man, 'Bright Fame.'"
"I'm her favorite son," he spoke candidly and gently.
"And a hard road it was to get there, I'm sure," Simmy said, thinking of all the times he had driven his mother to the store so she wouldn't have to take the bus.
"Yah," he said quietly, with eyebrows raised and head down, likely also thinking of the errands he had run for her and all the love he had given in practical form.
"Well, I guess that's how you got to be the favorite," Simmy acknowledged.
As he went into the house to catch a nap, Simmy had a happy feeling to be so privileged to have good neighbors.