- Today was a special day, the type of day which restores
a faith of sorts. And in that faith I found a lesson, taught to me by my
6-year-old son, Brandon.
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- I watched him at the kitchen table carefully packing
his lunch-bag. He would be working with dad today. As he puts it, "I'm
going to be a worker-man."
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- Carefully laid out before him was a arrangement of everything
he required to get him through the day a small coloring book, crayons,
a small box of smarties, a blueberry muffin, egg-salad samich,' (as he
puts it) and 3 small Easter eggs.
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- To know Brandon is to understand that time has no meaning.
I was running late and implored Brandon to, "Hurry up!" (I am
convinced he feels the watch is a confidence trick invented by the Swiss.)
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- Hurry he did. In fact, he forgot his well-packed lunch,
a mistake I was painfully aware of on the forty-minute drive to town. He
admonished me several times saying, "Dad, you made me rush now I have
no lunch." He changed the words over the duration of the scolding
but the meaning remained the same, "I need a lunch because you made
me forget mine."
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- I purchased a sandwich and another muffin at a restaurant
in town. Satisfied, he carried the bag to the van and soon his mutinous
thoughts of, "no lunch, no work," vanished.
-
- We arrived at a small bungalow in the suburbs of Kingston.
Our job, to install indoor-outdoor carpet on the porch and steps. I rang
the doorbell. I could hear the deadbolt being released, then the handle-lock
and security chain. The door swung slowly open revealing an old thin man.
He looked ill. His white hair covered his head in patches. The powder-blue
shirt hung from his shoulders as though on a hanger -- his belt, several
sizes too big.
-
- I smiled asking if he was Mr. Burch. "Yes. Are you
here to do the porch and steps?" "Yes, sir." "Okay.
I will leave this door open." "Okay, I will get to work."
"Do you have a flidge?'" blurted Brandon. The old man looked
down at Brandon who extended his lunch. "Yes I do. Do you know where
to find a fridge?" "Yes I do," said Brandon walking past
the man. "It's in the kitchen."
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- I was about to suggest to Brandon that he was being bold
by walking in but before I could, the old man held his finger to his lips
gesturing it was okay. "He'll be Ok. He can't get into anything at
all. Does he really help you?" I nodded yes. Brandon returned asking
in his most elf-like voice, "Do you have a coloring book?" Again,
I was about to suggest to Brandon that he was perhaps being bold. I extended
my hand beckoning him outside. The old man grasped my hand feebly. He looked
at Brandon. "Your father tells me you help him." "Yes. I'm
a worker-man," Brandon replied with pride.
-
- I looked down adding, "Apparently his job today
is to keep the customer busy." The old man looked at Brandon releasing
my hand a faint smile appearing. "Maybe you could do some work and
show me how to color?" With a most serious look, Brandon asked, "Dad,
will you be okay?" "Will Mr. Burch be okay?" I answered.
"We will be fine. We will be right here at the table. Come help me
get out the book, worker-man."
-
- I walked to the truck returning with material and my
notepad in time to hear Brandon comment: "You have colored in this
book. You are a good colorer." "No, I didn't color these pictures.
My grandchildren did." "What are grandchildren?" Brandon
asked curiously. "They are my' children's children. I am a grandfather."
"What's a grandfather?" "Well, when you' grow up and get
married, then have children of your own, your dad will be a grandpa. Then,
your mother will be a grandma. They will be grandparents. Do you understand?"
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- Brandon paused. "Yes, grandpa." "Oh, I
don't think I'm your grandpa," the old man suggested.
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- Brandon rubbed the hair from his eyes. Studying the crayons,
he selected one and continued to color.
-
- Brandon said, "Everybody knows everybody you know?"
"Well I'm not sure they do. Why do you say that?" The old man
looked curiously at Brandon who was diligently coloring. "We all comed'
from God. He made us all. We are fambily.'" "Yes, God made everything,"
the old man confirmed. "I know," said Brandon in a lighthearted
voice. "He told me."
-
- I had never heard Brandon talk of such things before,
other than one time we had gone to Church to watch a Christmas play. While
waiting for the play to start, Brandon had asked which door God would be
coming through and if he would be sitting with us.
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- "He told you?" The old man was clearly curious.
"Yes he did. He lives up there." Brandon pointed to the ceiling
looking up with reverence. "I b-member' being there and talking to
him." "What did he say to you?" The old man placed his crayon
on the table focusing on Brandon.
-
- "He said we are all fambily.' Brandon paused then
added logically, "So you're my grandpa." The old man looked to
me through the screen door. He smiled. I was embarrassed that he saw me
watching them. He told Brandon to keep coloring, he was going to check
on the job.
-
- The old man made his way slowly to the door. Opening
it, he stepped onto the porch. "How's it going?" He asked. "It's
going okay," I said. "I won't be long." The old man smiled
slightly. "Does the boy have a grandfather?" I paused. "No,
he doesn't. They were gone when he was born. He has a nanny, you know,
a grandmother, but she is frail and not well."
-
- "I understand what you are saying. I have cancer.
I'm not long for this earth either." "I'm sorry to hear that
Mr. Burch. I lost my mom to cancer."
-
- He looked at me with tired smiling eyes. "Every
boy needs a grandfather," he said softly. I agreed, adding, "It's
just not in the cards for Brandon." The old man looked back to Brandon
who was now coloring vigorously. "How often do you come to town, son?"
"Me?" I asked. "Yes." "I come in almost every
day."
-
- The old man looked back to me. "Perhaps you could
bring Brandon by from time to time when you're in the area that is for
30 minutes or so. What do you think?"
-
- I looked in at Brandon. He had stopped coloring and was
listening to us. "Could we dad? We are fliends.' We can have lunch
together." "Well, if it's okay with Mr. Burch."
-
- The old man opened the door returning to the table. Brandon
slid from his chair and walked to the fridge. "It's, lunchtime, grandpa.
I got enough for both of us." Brandon returned to the table. He removed
the contents from the paper bag. "Do you have a knife?" Asked
Brandon.
-
- The old man started to get up. "I can find it. Tell
me where to look," instructed Brandon.
-
- "The butter knives are next to the corner of the
counter, in the drawer."
-
- "Found it!"
-
- Brandon returned to the table. He unwrapped his muffin.
With the care of a diamond-cutter, he cleaved two perfect portions. Brandon
placed one portion on the plastic the muffin was wrapped in. He pushed
it toward Mr. Burch. "This is yours." He carefully unwrapped
the sandwich next. "This is yours too. We have to eat the samich'
first. Mom says." "Okay," replied Mr. Burch. "Do you
like juice Brandon?" "Yep, Apple juice."
-
- Mr. Burch walked slowly to the fridge. He removed a can
of apple juice and poured two small glasses. He placed one in front of
Brandon. "This is yours." "Thank you grandpa."
-
- Brandon punctuated his eating with questions to Mr. Burch
and fits of coloring.
-
- "Do you play hockey, Brandon?" "Yep,"
said Brandon studying the end of his sandwich before biting into it. "Dad
took me, Tyler and Adam, in the winter time."
-
- "Years ago," Mr. Burch started, "I used
to play for a senior A team. I was almost ready to play for the NHL, but
I was never called up. I did play once, with a man that was called up though.
He was a fine player. Bill Moore. That was his name."
-
- My heart leapt to my throat. "Tutter Moore?"
I asked through the screen.
-
- The old man was startled. He looked at me. "Yes,
that's him . . . was called up to Boston a few times. You've heard of him?"
-
- "Yes," I said my voice cracking, "You're
eating lunch with his grandson."
-
- The old man looked back to Brandon. He stared for a few
moments. Brandon looked innocently at Mr. Burch. "Yes . . . I see
now." Mr. Burch's voice had a tone of distant recollection. "He
looks very much like Tutter. And the nanny, is Lillian?" "Yes,"
I replied.
-
- The old man clasped Brandon's hand. "Brandon, I
owe you an apology. You were right and I was wrong. Everybody does' know
everybody."
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