Originally published between 2011 and 2014, this post has been updated but preserves its original publish date as content is migrated from the archives of The Flavored Word.
A few Christmases ago, while my mother-in-law stood in the kitchen and fussed over the uncooperative roast that seemed content to cook slower than it should, I took my glass of wine, left the roast to battle on its own and had a seat on the living room couch. My five-year-old son, occupied with some Lego something-a-rather, was exhibiting mixed signs of frustration at the tiny pieces along with the ever-present holiday exhaustion that accompanies a long morning of unwrapping gifts and eating cinnamon rolls. Nonetheless, he kept working and before long, he prevailed and the onetime Lego something-a-rather was now a bona fide, bright shiny airplane. And he did it all by himself.
His grandfather—sitting in a chair opposite me—had been supervising the entire construction project, from sorting the tiny pieces to completion, when I heard him call his only grandson over.
“Hey,” he said, “Hey, hey come here a second. What cha doing?”
My son stood and walked over to where his grandpa was seated.
“Nothing much,” he answered. And then, “You want to see my airplane?”
For the next few minutes, I watched as the two of them made odd little swishing sounds while pretending to fly the creation through the air and contemplated where the plane might need to go next. When two minutes were up and the mission decided, my father-in-law turned my son, his expression more serious than moments earlier while deciding the fate of their tiny airplane.
“I want to tell you something,” he said. “Just do your best. Remember that in everything you do … work as hard as you can … always do your best and always work as hard as you can. You do that and everything will workout.”
My son shrugged, cocked his head to the side as if he was actually contemplating what he had just been told, said OK, then reached up and kissed his grandfather’s cheek.
And that was that.
That Christmas was the last time my son ever saw his grandfather. He died a few months later. But I will never forget watching their interaction. Never. Every now and then I ask my son if he remembers that day. He says he does, but I don’t know if his recollection is actual memory or a re-creation from what I’ve told him. Either way, I suppose it’s OK … because at the very least, it is real. And it is, without a doubt, one of the more memorable moments in my life.
Cover image created with Google AI.
DISCLAIMER: I’m a writer and an editor. And I try my best to make sure every post is articulate and free from errors. However, being that I edit my own work—and it’s next to impossible to properly edit your own work—I admit, occasionally there may be an error or two I miss. But doing so doesn’t make me an idiot so don’t be mean. Just smile, pat yourself on the back for finding an error and be glad you’re not the only one who makes mistakes sometimes … xoxox
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