No surprise there.

Like professional wrestling, the outcome is scripted. I know I'm going to lose, but I relish the role anyway.

I have six grandsons. Daughter Kari and husband Jon have four boys: Luke, 9; Zachary, 6; Evan, almost 2 ½, and Joel, 8 months. Daughter Lori and husband Kris have the twins, Alex and Will, who celebrate their first birthday this week.

Right now, dinosaur fights pit Luke, Zach and Evan against me. Before long, Alex, Will and Joel will have their turns.

The battleground is the playroom floor. A blue, cloth-covered beanbag chair -- flattened by years of use -- makes an ideal pretend lake.

The rules are simple: I stretch out on the floor and bring my herd of peaceful, plant-eating dinosaurs to the edge of the lake. We approach carefully, sniffing the air, looking in every direction. Just as we start to drink, Luke and Zach attack out of nowhere with their huge, fierce, meat-eating T.rexs. Sometimes Evan is content to simply gnaw on my ankle with a smaller T.rex, trying to sound mean with "Grrrrrr. Grrrrrr."

After my dinosaurs make several return trips to the lake -- and get beat up each time, naturally -- the boys usually plead for the Tickle Monster. Again, the rules are simple. They lay side by side on the beanbag with my claw-like hand hovering above. I count down "5, 4, 3..." By the time I get to 1 they have to be perfectly still -- no moving or laughing, no twitching or smirking -- or they risk an unmerciful tickling. Their eyes squint, their cheeks puff out and it isn't long until one of them breaks -- then all three get tickled.

"Stop, Papaw! Stop! ...Do it again!"

Sometimes, after we're all tickled out, we lay on the bean bag and make up stories -- Luke, Zach and I taking turns adding one line until we reach some crazy ending. Among our favorites: "The day the skunks got into the house" and "Hey! They put hot sauce on my taco!" Evan listens wide-eyed; I often wonder what he's imagining.

Soon it's time for the boys to get ready for dinner and I have to go home. Darn it.

These days won't last forever, of course. Luke already is into basketball, football and Student Council. Zach is fascinated by his scooter, skateboard and kindergarten. Evan, Alex, Will and Joel will have their turns with dinosaurs, their turns to be tickled and make up stories.

Long before I'm ready, all six will be grown. Dinosaur fights will give way to cars and girls, diplomas and careers, families of their own.

A couple of years ago I chose a very small dinosaur -- a Triceratops, I believe -- from among the dozens in the toy box. Luke, Zach and Evan have played with him, now he rests in my desk at work. When Alex, Will and Joel are a little older, I'll make sure their small hands hold him too, before he goes back into my desk.

God willing, that very small dinosaur will be in my suit coat pocket at each of the boys' high school and, I hope, college graduations. As I watch them walk across the stage, I'll reach into my pocket, clutch that little Triceratops and remember the joys of tickling and made-up stories and dinosaur fights.