It was a perfect day, a gorgeous day, the sun was bright, there was a crisp but benign chill in the air, neither too warm or too cold. In the first three years of her life, I can count the number of times I’ve been alone with Robin.

Here I was, right near the bears and the Bug Carousel at the Bronx Zoo.

I cannot be one of those grandfathers for whom their grandchild is the passion and centerpiece of life. I sometimes wish I could, but I can’t.

I don’t sense it’s something she needs either, both of us have a full and engaged life.  I want my own life to be the passion and centerpiece of my life. What I most wanted for Emma was for her to be happy independent, without me or anyone else to prop her up. And she is.

This seems to work for all of us, me, Emma and Robin. We Facetime two or three times a week, usually. I’ve gotten used to it, and Robin can talk more now. She can talk a lot.

I am older and somewhat wiser now and have no more interest in delusions and lies and good intentions or viral hysterias.

My life is my life, and my life is a good one. I have learned to accept life, rather than yearn for it or complain about it or fight it.

Emma went into the restaurant to order lunch, and I was alone with Robin and Maria.

I gave Robin one of those cube puzzles – you can twist the cube into a robot – and we both settled in to try to figure it out together. I was struck right away by how easy were are together.

Maria was sitting across from us, on the other end of the table, smiling. She liked what she was seeing. She is happy when Robin and I connect, I’m not sure why. She loves life, in all of its forms.

Emma was gone a long time, there was a huge line in the restaurant.

Robin and I talked easily and laughed about the struggle to unravel our robot. Then we read a carousel animal book I brought for her – you open the book and it turns into a carousel with all kinds of paper cut out animals.

I felt the past rush up over me like a warm shower on a winter morning.

When Emma was three or four, I began taking her to a local bookstore run by a wonderful woman named Jane DeLeeuw, a beloved friend and book lover.

Every Saturday morning, she would have a pile of books waiting on a special table for Emma to look at, and Emma and I sat going through each one of them. It was a couple of years before she could read.

But she loved picture books and Archie comic books. I supplied her with hundreds.

This precious Saturday routine continued until Emma learned to read by herself and no longer wanted to sit in a bookstore with me, and came by herself. She became a passionate reader, and I can see this in Robin’s eyes when she reads a book or hears a story (and I love to tell stories).

Emma soaked up every story, eyes widened, lips following the words.

Emma thinks Robin is very different from her, but I think they are very much the same. Emma jokes that Robin’s willful and resilient gene comes from me, but I know it comes from her. Maybe she got it from me. We both love books  and movies and stories very much.

Robin is bright and curious, she misses nothing and asks about everything. She has a rebellious and independent streak, she doesn’t give way easily.

After a long while, Emma came out of the restaurant with some hot dogs and french fries. We sat in the sun talking and laughing until it was time for Maria and I to go and meet our penguins at the Aquatic Birds Building.

I savored this moment and felt my heart sink a bit as we walked away.

We signed in to the Zoo Center and were logged in. Were each given a walkie-talkie and some earphones and Moses, our guide walked us to the penguins, about a half-mile away, in a brick building out of sight in a part of the zoo I had never seen. Giant Bronx apartment houses towered over us.

They are not visible in any other part of the zoo.

The guide was a lanky teenager and the small group walked faster than I could, up and down brick steps. I managed to keep up. I did feel old at that moment.

I knew it will be a long time before I get to spend time with Robin like that again, it felt good. After the penguin visit, Robin and Emma were waiting for us outside near the Sea Lions.

It would have been a beautiful photo, but Emma doesn’t like being photographed and I don’t push it.

We sat in the sun near the Sea Lions, and listened to them roar and cry out, and we talked some more and laughed some more, and I picked up Robin and swung her around and tickled her a bit as she shrieked “more, more,” and then it was time to go and she asked me if she could ride up on my shoulders as we walked the mile or so to the gate that led to our car.

Of course she could.

My back is still store from that walk, it was well worth it.

Emma and Robin were taking the subway back to Brooklyn, a half-mile walk to the station, and an hour on the train. They were planning to read the Carousel book on the way. I thanked them for coming. It isn’t easy to haul a three-year-old around New York City.

I had this wonderful sense of being able to reach into life from a distance, and touch it, and then step back into my own good and full life.

I could see that  Robin and I were getting close and will always be close, and when it was time say goodbye, we hugged and kissed  – and Emma, then Robin, and I stood in the sidewalk and watched as Robin climbed into her stroller and the two of them set off for home.

“Can we go to Maria and Mepaw’s house?,” Robin asked Emma. (Robin calls me Mepaw) “maybe in the Spring,” Emma said.

A bittersweet thing, I think, sad and lovely at the same time. I feel some melancholy about it.

But I was happy to come home to my life and to see that my daughter and granddaughter were happy doing the same.