you leave their presence and still smell the fragrance of acceptance, it is all you need. It is music to your ears.
No words and yet much wisdom.
What was Grandpa’s wise message to me? Here is what lingers still.
• Be true.
• Be kind.
• Be generous.
• Be thankful. And last but not least,
• Walk with integrity.
Thank you, Grandpa Max.
Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear
and the blind can see.
~ Mark Twain
Story #8: A Dime a Dozen
I didn’t eat candy much as a child. That’s because I lived in the country, and it simply wasn’t available.
Now, when my Aunt Denise, who lived up the street, opened her corner store, life took a significant turn. I now had access to treats.
One day, Mom called me over. “Here. Get yourself a treat.” She planted a dime into the palm of my hand.
I now think she likely needed me out of the house. My very sick baby brother took up most of her time. And rightly so.
A hop and a skip and I landed at Aunt Denise’s front step. Her shop consisted of a deep freeze and a board with trinkets pinned to it. These two items sat on her screen porch.
Knock. Knock. The screen door swung wide open. Aunt Denise glanced down.
“Yes?”
How does a four-year-old child place an order? “Ummm. Mommy gave me ten cents. What can I buy for that much money?”
“A chocolate ice bar.” I could see Aunt Denise had things to do. She was wearing an apron. I knew I had to make it quick.
“May I buy one, please?”
Aunt Denise ducked under the wool socks drying on a clothesline above her head and flipped the freezer door open. The upper half of her disappeared inside. She handed me the frozen treat. With her other hand, she reached for my dime.
“Thank you,” I piped.
My aunt nodded and opened the screen door. I examined the wrapping and held the cold treat against my cheek. Ahhh. I peeled back the paper wrapping and studied my first purchase ever. Eyes closed, I took a lick.
Heaven on earth!
And that was the day I was introduced to my favourite childhood candy.
The most important thing about education is appetite.
~ Winston Churchill
Story #9: Time Flies
I’ve always been fascinated by time. Time on the clock. Time on your wrist watch. Time to catch the school bus. Time for recess. Time to eat dinner.
I will always remember my first real conflicted relationship with time.
I must have just come home from school. Mom couldn’t wait to show us her new project. She directed us into her bedroom. Six red piggy-bank alarm clocks with real numbers on the face lined the shelf above Mom and Dad’s bed.
Mom chimed in, “Now you can begin saving your money.” I rubbed my eyes and stared in horror. Using a black magic marker, Mom had scrawled each of our names on the face of a clock.
I never touched my piggy-bank alarm clock from day one. In my mind, it was ruined forever.
I get it now. With that many kids, you want to make sure everyone knows whose stuff is whose. I don’t know what became of those alarm-clock piggy banks. They disappeared as quickly as they appeared.
Fast forward to my adult years . . .
I have never forgotten that long lost alarm-clock piggy bank. Will I ever replace it one day? No need to.
The message Mom taught stayed with me forever. And what message was that? It’s always a good time to save your money.
Easy come, easy go, but steady diligence pays off.
~ Proverbs 13:11
Story #10: Strike While the Iron Is Hot
I walked up to my first childhood home and introduced myself to the lady who answered the door.
“Would it be possible to view the inside of my childhood home?”
The lady of the house smiled and welcomed me in.
How in the world did Mom and Dad fit us all in here? All seven of us kids? The new owners had done significant renovations, both inside and out.
In my mind’s eye, I could still see:
The linoleum on the living room floor, along with its green leaf pattern. I looked at the side wall where the couch used to be. That’s where Mom took her afternoon naps. I would lie behind her and wait for her to wake up so I could play.
The single sink in the kitchen where Mom bathed my little brother and me. One at a time. When we got too big for the sink, we graduated to the tub.
The wringer washing machine in the corner near the kitchen door. That machine earned its keep. Go figure.
The side door I escaped through early one morning when Mom was napping with my baby brother. I can still see the small paper bag in my hand, the one with cookies tucked inside.
My bedroom window where I first discovered a big star in the sky. As a child, I thought Baby Jesus lay under that star. Somewhere far, far away.
The front step where the milkman delivered two glass bottles of milk. I can still see Mom scooping the cream off the top into her oatmeal bowl.
And then the basement, where I played hide-and-seek.
I thanked the new owner of my childhood home. And with her permission, I walked around and behind the house to retrace my childhood steps.
In no time, I found myself up the slope and on the train tracks. On the opposite side of the tracks lies a steep embankment, overlooking the swiftly flowing Gatineau River. I see myself playing on the train tracks as a young child.
And then I looked for it. My special rock. The place where I sat and gazed across the river. And marvelled at how the diamonds danced on the water. Wonder of wonders, it was still there, after all these years. I sat down on the hard surface and breathed in deeply. There is a scent like no other by the river. If I close my eyes, I can hear the gentle water lapping against the shore even now. I ended my reverie with a brief walk up and down the one road that cut through my village.
A surreal experience. One I will never forget.
When I got home, the owner of the house kindly sent an old photo of what my childhood home looked like when I lived there.
The