That being done, Grandpa steps back and takes on the role of listener,
rarely injecting himself into the narration. Throughout, Grandchild is
aware that Grandpa in close by.
Put Palm Trees in Your Stories
'Grandpa, where are you, Grandpa.'
The call reached me from down the long hallway. The sounds of
scuffling slippers grew louder and, a moment later, Granddaughter's
curly head peeked around the edge of the kitchen doorway.
'What are you doing, Grandpa?' she asked.
'Coffee,' I replied, peering in her direction over the rim of my glasses.
'Mornin' coffee.'
'Oh,' she said, standing in the doorway.
Her eyes focused on the scene beyond the kitchen window. The broad
fronds of palm trees close by outside waved about furiously in the brisk
November wind. There are no palm trees in the city where
Granddaughter lives, and having arrived late the previous evening she
had not seen the ones near our home.
Granddaughter stared. Dashing past me to the window, she placed her
hands on the sill, and jumped to see out.
'When you visit us next year,' I said, 'you will be taller, and see over the
sill without jumping.
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