During one of my visits I took my, then, three-year-old
granddaughter for a stroll. We paused to examine a spider's web
spanning a space between two shrubs. A rain shower had passed shortly
before and droplets festooned the web's strands and rainbow-sparkled in
the morning sunlight. Standing there, both of us bent forward peering
into the web, I wove a story that transformed the sparkling strands into a
carnival and the spider into an acrobat. Granddaughter's eyes widened
with wonder.
We continued on and stopped at a house to observe a cat on the porch
playing with a yellow ball. I wove another tale, this time of a cat and a
strange ball that bounced too high. Again, my granddaughter's
expression showed her pleasure in hearing grandpa's story. For the
remainder of my visit, and during subsequent visits, I told her, and when
he was old enough, my grandson, of the world around us and how we
hoped to, some day, live together on Planet Earth.
Visits, in either direction were infrequent. Adult-oriented telephone calls
usually left only brief moments for talking to grandchildren.
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