It's a mile marker, I think. I got hoodwinked. It's happened before, but this time I got taken for a ride for a completely different reason, and I'm left thinking that now, with respect to my granddaughter, we've entered a whole new state of being.
So my wife and I stop at the garage sale my daughter and friends are throwing, an entire garage full of mostly kid clothes. We're not in the market; for the most part, we're just nosy and it's a Friday night. Believe me, we're not shopping. We could have our own HUGE GARAGE SALE if we took the time to winnow out the detritus, a job which, by the way, looms hugely just down the pike somewhere.
My granddaughter comes running up, grabs my hand, and hauls me over to the far corner, where she picks up a little bulletin board, perfect for some dreamy-eyed fourth-grade girl's bedroom. It got a trade name, of course--High School Musical. We're at a garage sale. It's somebody's old stuff. I don't really need a High School Musical bulletin board myself, but with her holding my hand I'm already reaching for my wallet.
"It's hers," my daughter says from across the garage.
I swear that rare headline took forever to settle in. "It's hers," my daughter said again.
Listen--my darling little sweet perfectly innocent fourth-grade granddaughter, my very first grandchild, who, as far as I know, has never yet sinned, didn't want me to buy this useless piece of High School Musical junk for her--oh, no, that wasn't it at all. She wasn't looking to remodel her wildly unkempt bedroom. No, no, no.
She wanted me to buy that stupid thing because she wanted the almighty dollar it was going to cost me to lug the dumb thing home.
Give me the money, she was saying. Give me the money. Give me the money.
Woe and woe and woe. We--the two of us in a vehicle we call life--just passed some kind of mile marker., and this morning I'm not sure life is worth living.
I didn't buy the stupid thing, but I'll likely give her a buck next time the two of us are alone.
Some things don't change anyway, even if she is.
Grandpa will always be a sucker.
So my wife and I stop at the garage sale my daughter and friends are throwing, an entire garage full of mostly kid clothes. We're not in the market; for the most part, we're just nosy and it's a Friday night. Believe me, we're not shopping. We could have our own HUGE GARAGE SALE if we took the time to winnow out the detritus, a job which, by the way, looms hugely just down the pike somewhere.
My granddaughter comes running up, grabs my hand, and hauls me over to the far corner, where she picks up a little bulletin board, perfect for some dreamy-eyed fourth-grade girl's bedroom. It got a trade name, of course--High School Musical. We're at a garage sale. It's somebody's old stuff. I don't really need a High School Musical bulletin board myself, but with her holding my hand I'm already reaching for my wallet.
"It's hers," my daughter says from across the garage.
I swear that rare headline took forever to settle in. "It's hers," my daughter said again.
Listen--my darling little sweet perfectly innocent fourth-grade granddaughter, my very first grandchild, who, as far as I know, has never yet sinned, didn't want me to buy this useless piece of High School Musical junk for her--oh, no, that wasn't it at all. She wasn't looking to remodel her wildly unkempt bedroom. No, no, no.
She wanted me to buy that stupid thing because she wanted the almighty dollar it was going to cost me to lug the dumb thing home.
Give me the money, she was saying. Give me the money. Give me the money.
Woe and woe and woe. We--the two of us in a vehicle we call life--just passed some kind of mile marker., and this morning I'm not sure life is worth living.
I didn't buy the stupid thing, but I'll likely give her a buck next time the two of us are alone.
Some things don't change anyway, even if she is.
Grandpa will always be a sucker.
3 comments:
It works in the Navajo culture as well. Glad I'm, culturally, not the only one.
It is what women do to let those "in charge" know what is really happening day to day. I think the harnessed team of horses really believe they are "in charge" of the ultimate destination. Didn't the Navajos call her Spider Woman? How does the wee little spider get what she needs? Welcome the loving escape from your illusion fellas. Better accept it joyfully. Whos big picture is way up there on the wall over your care giving grand daughters sholder?---Hastiin Nez
Well this is her Father talking, so judge my comments with that in mind. Yes she has sin and yes I am well aware of it. But, let me tell you what I see in this picture that is posted that many may not see. She is playing her piano dutifully. What's more you will notice her little 1 year old brother sitting next to her pounding on the keys as she practices (this is a daily occurrence). Most ten year old girls would get very angry at their pesky little brother for bothering them while they play. Not my little girl. She smiles, laughs, and just keeps on playing encouraging her little brother to have fun, maybe even at her expense. Original sin is alive and well in her, I am not fooling myself, but her good nature given to her by Christ is just as alive. Play on Joce!
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