This past weekend, my nine-month-old son and my 101-year-old grandmother met for the first time.

Both of them immediately forgot the event.

My grandmother, kind of ancient and somewhat frail – but still feisty! – is the eldest member of my family – and probably yours. She was born way back when the Red Sox were first good, and she’s lived to see them become good again, which would warm her heart if she cared at all about sports in the slightest. Which she doesn’t. But she LOVES the color red, so there’s that.

Obviously, 101 is pretty old, and she’s not as active or sprightly as she was at 81. But while she isn’t exactly running marathons – and she still thinks I’m in college – she’s a lot more together than my baby son.

Honestly, when is this kid going to start giving something back, here? Aside from the assorted bodily fluids he throws around all willy-nilly. We’re closing in on a year and he’s yet to walk, he’s yet to talk, and he isn’t even close to giving me stock tips. I’m running out of patience. If he wasn’t so damn cute I’d definitely have sold him already. But I digress.

It wasn’t exactly the meeting of the minds when my son met my grandma, but it was pretty cool just the same. Kid’s not even a year and she’s over a century; kinda crazy. I don’t know that they have much in common, aside from some shared genes and a paucity of teeth, but I’m definitely glad they were able to meet up. Even though neither of them took much from it that day, my son will have pictures of the time he met his great-grandma, and that counts for something. Not everyone gets that chance and I’m happy they did.

I hope I live long enough to meet my great-grandkid. And I hope the Sox are still good when I do.