This Week April 18, 1990. Page MS

PRIME TIME

Grandparents occupy a special place in the heart

randparents seem to occupy a very spe-

cial place in the hearts of small children.

I don’t believe that this has anything to

do with spoiling. I think that it has to do
with being far enough removed from the past to see
our own childhood clearly and in perspective. We
remember the ups and downs of childhood, and just
how devastating disappointments can be. We un-
derstand that a child lives in the here and now and
that it is what is taking place at the moment that
counts.

A child lives one day at a time, then, as we grow.
up, that marvellous concept is lost, and we become
sO wrapped up in the future that we lose sight of
the present. Until we become grandparents, that
is. Then we begin
to see clearly that
one of the trea-
sures of life is
seeing the world
simply and clear-
ly through the
eyes of a child.

Evidence of this
special bonding
abounds. I re-
member a little
girl up north, who
would have
cheerfully battled
dragons for her
grandmother.

We were living in a small town north of the
Peace. It wasn’t much more than a cluster of frame
buildings, a general store and a post office. Our
house was on the edge of town. The place next door
had been vacant since we moved in. It wasn’t much
of a house, so I suppose that was why. Then one
morning I saw a truck drive in. It was loaded with a
miscellany of household goods. Two men got out
and unloaded the contents in front of the house.
Then they got back in the truck, one of the women
opened the back door of the wagon and helped the
old grandmother out. She was stooped and walked
with a cane, leaning heavily on it as she took short
little steps. She wore a long dark skirt and a
kerchief covered her gray head.

I envied them the job of turning the old place into
a home. I liked challenges like that myself. I was

Goldenrod.

By IVY KENT

baking that morning, and when the biscuits came
out of the oven, they smelled so good I thought I
might as well share. I had been glancing out
occasionally, and saw that the women were coping
well and that the pile of furniture was getting
smaller as pieces disappeared in through the front
door. Even the little ones seemed to be doing their
bit. I put the hot biscuits in a basket, made a fresh
pot of coffee, and headed over. __

They were friendly people and made me wel-
come. And with so many
hungry children the bis-
cuits disappeared so fast
that I sent the oldest
girl, Mary, back to my
house for a tin of cookies
I had left on the counter.
She was a nice child, and
very good with the
smaller children and the
old grandmother, whom
they called “Nonnie.”
The old lady sat on a
chair beside the cook-
stove, overseeing opera-
tions, and tapping on the
floor with her wooden
cane when she wanted to
make herself heard. The
women were her daugh-
ters and their husbands
had gone to look for work
in the area.

The next day, I was out
in the warm spring sun,
potting small geranium
plant, when Mary came
over. She squatted down beside me, wanting to
help. I showed her what to do and she worked away
happily, talking all the while.

“We used to live in the city,” she said. “Man raised
the rent... Dad said he just wanted us out. I don’t
care, though, ‘cause now we can have Nonnie with
us.”

“She didn’t live with you in the city?”

“No,” Mary said, “She doesn’t even like the city.
She lived in her own house out in the country.” She
was silent for a few minutes thinking about it. “It
was a nice old house,” she said, “I liked that old

house.” Then she looked up at me questioningly.
“How can they do that?” she wanted to know, “How

can they make her leave her very own home?” She -

kicked angrily at a clod of dirt. She was obviously
upset for her grandmother.

“Those government people sure are weird,” she
said. “Just because Nonnie don’t see so good, and
has to walk with a stick, they were going to move
her to someplace in the city with a bunch of old
people. And she didn’t even know them, those old
people.”

She was quiet for
awhile, carefully scoop-
ing dirt into the tomato
cans. Every once in a
while she would look up
at me as if trying to
decide if I could be trust-
ed.

“Nonnie remembers
being small like me,” she
said. “She knows some
good stories.” Giving me
a hard look, and dropp-
ing her voice almost to a
| whisper, she continued.

“Sometimes she tells
me about the buffaloes.
There were lots and lots
of them, all around.” Her
dark eyes dared me to
disbelieve. “They knew
where they were by put-
ting an ear on the

She says that when the
herds ran, the ground
shook.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes in tribute to
those mighty herds. :

“Sure wisht I could of seen them, those buffa-

- loes,” the little girl said wistfully. I said that I, too,

would have liked to see them.

Mary thought about her grandmother.

“That Nonnie,” she said, and there was pride in
her voice, “she knows everything.”

I thought that such a sweeping statement merit-
ed reward, so we sat on the back steps in the
sunshine, ate cookies and talked about the buffaloes.

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