Visiting your grandparents can feel like a chore at sixteen. At thirty, you’d trade a lot for one more Sunday.

At sixteen a Sunday visit competes with everything else you want to do, and on paper it loses. The worth of those afternoons is hard to see while there are still plenty of them ahead. Nothing about the visit itself changes later; what changes is how rare it has become.

You do not have to want to go. You only have to go sometimes, and it helps to bring something to do there: cards, a question, a small job around the house. An hour with your phone in your pocket is enough to be worth having.