Today was a special day, the type of day which restores a faith of sorts.

And in that faith I found a lesson, taught to me by my 
6-year-old son, Brandon.

I watched him at the kitchen table carefully packing his lunch-bag.  I was
going to take him along with me to work.
As he put it, "I'm going to be a worker-man."

Carefully laid out before him was a arrangement of every- thing he
required to get him through the day -- a small coloring book, crayons,
small box of smarties, blueberry muffin, egg-salad "samich" (as he called
it) and 3 small Easter eggs.

To know Brandon is to understand that time has no meaning.  
I was running late and implored Brandon to, "Hurry up!"  
(I'm sure he feels the watch is a confidence trick, invented by the
Swiss.)

Hurry he did.  In fact, he forgot his well-packed lunch, a mistake I was
painfully aware of on the forty-minute drive to town.  He admonished me
several times saying, "Dad, you made me rush now I have no lunch."  He
changed the words over the duration of the scolding but the meaning
remained the same, "I need a lunch because you made me forget mine."

I purchased a sandwich and another muffin at a restaurant in town.

Satisfied, he carried the bag to the van and soon his mutinous thoughts
of, "no lunch, no work," vanished.

We arrived at a small bungalow in the suburbs of Kingston.  
Our job: to install indoor-outdoor carpet on the porch and steps.

I rang the doorbell.  I could hear the deadbolt being released, then the
handle-lock and security chain.  The door swung slowly open revealing an
old, thin, man.  He looked ill.  His white hair covered his head in
patches.
The powder-blue shirt hung from his shoulders as though on a hanger -- his
belt, several sizes too big.

I smiled asking if he was Mr.  Burch.

"Yes.  Are you here to do the porch and steps?"

"Yes, Sir."

"OK.  I will leave this door open."

"OK, I will get to work."

"Do you have a 'flidge?'" blurted Brandon.  The old man looked down at
Brandon who extended his lunch.
 

"Yes I do.  Do you know where to find a fridge?"

"Yes I do," said Brandon walking past the man.  "It's in the kitchen."

I was about to suggest to Brandon that he was being bold by walking in but
before I could, the old man held his finger to his lips gesturing it was
OK.

"He'll be OK.  He can't get into anything at all.  Does he really help
you?"

I nodded yes.  

Brandon returned asking, in his most elf-like voice, "Do you have a
coloring book?"

Again, I was about to suggest to Brandon that he was perhaps being bold. 
I extended my hand beckoning him outside.  The old man grasped my hand
feebly.  He looked at Brandon.

"Your father tells me you help him."

"Yes.  I'm a worker-man," Brandon replied with pride.

I looked down adding, "Apparently his job today is to keep the customer
busy."

The old man looked at Brandon releasing my hand, a faint smile appearing.

"Maybe you could do some work and show me how to color?"

With a most serious look, Brandon asked, "Dad, will you be OK?"

"Will Mr.  Burch be OK?" I answered.

"We will be fine.  We will be right here at the table. 
Come help me get out the book, worker-man."

I walked to the truck returning with material and my note- pad in time to
hear Brandon comment, "You have colored in this book.  You are a good
colorer."

"No, I didn't color these pictures.  My grandchildren did."

"What are grandchildren?" Brandon asked curiously.

"They are my children's children.  I am a grandfather."

"What's a grandfather?"

"Well, when you grow up and get married, then have children of your own,
your dad will be a grandpa.  Then, your mother will be a grandma.  They
will be grandparents.  Do you understand?"

Brandon paused.  "Yes, grandpa."

"Oh, I don't think I'm your grandpa," the old man suggested.

Brandon rubbed his hair from his eyes.  Studying the crayons, he selected
one and continued to color.

Brandon said, "Everybody knows everybody you know?"

"Well, I'm not sure they do.  Why do you say that?" The old man looked
curiously at Brandon who was diligently coloring.

"We all comed from God.  He made us all.  We are fambily."

"Yes, God made everything," the old man confirmed.

"I know," said Brandon in a lighthearted voice.  "He told me."

I had never heard Brandon talk of such things before, other than one time
we had gone to church to watch a Christmas play.  While waiting for the
play to start, Brandon had asked which door God would be coming through
and if he would be sitting with us.

"He told you?" The old man was clearly curious.

"Yes he did.  He lives up there." Brandon pointed to the ceiling looking
up with reverence.  "I b-member being there and talking to him."

"What did he say to you?"  The old man placed his crayon on the table
focusing on Brandon.

"He said we are all fambily."  Brandon paused then added logically, "So
you're my grandpa."

The old man looked to me through the screen door.  He smiled.  I was
embarrassed he saw me watching them.  He told Brandon to keep coloring, he
was going to check on the job.

The old man made his way slowly to the door.  Opening it, he stepped onto
the porch.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"It's going OK," I said.  "I won't be long." The old man smiled slightly.

"Does the boy have a grandfather?"

I paused.  "No, he doesn't.  They were gone when he was born.  He has a
nanny, you know, a grandmother, but she is frail and not well."

"I understand what you are saying.  I have cancer.  I'm not long for this
earth either."

"I'm sorry to hear that Mr.  Burch.  I lost my mother to cancer."

He looked at me with tired, smiling, eyes.  "Every boy needs a
grandfather," he said softly.

I agreed, adding, "It's just not in the cards for Brandon."

The old man looked back to Brandon who was coloring vigorously.  "How
often do you come to town, son?"

"Me?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I come in almost every day."

The old man looked back to me.  "Perhaps you could bring Brandon by from
time to time, when you're in the area that is, for 30 minutes or so.  What
do you think?"

I looked in at Brandon.  He had stopped coloring and was listening to us.

"Could we dad?  We are fliends.  We can have lunch together."

"Well, if it's OK with Mr.  Burch."

The old man opened the door returning to the table.  Brandon slid from his
chair and walked to the fridge.  "It's lunch time grandpa.  I got enough
for both of us." Brandon returned to the table.  He removed the contents
from the paper bag.
"Do you have a knife?" asked Brandon.

The old man started to get up.

"I can find it.  Tell me where to look," instructed Brandon.

"The butter knives are next to the corner of the counter, in the drawer."

"Found it!"

Brandon returned to the table.  He unwrapped his muffin. 
With the care of a diamond-cutter, he cleaved two perfect portions. 
Brandon placed one portion on the plastic the muffin was wrapped in.  He
pushed it toward Mr.  Burch.

"This is yours." He carefully unwrapped the sandwich next. 
"This is yours too.  We have to eat the samich first.  Mom says."

"OK," replied Mr Burch.

"Do you like juice, Brandon?"

"Yep, apple juice."

Mr.  Burch walked slowly to the fridge.  He removed a can of apple juice
and poured two small glasses.  He placed one in front of Brandon.

"This is yours."

"Thank you grandpa." Brandon punctuated his eating with questions to Mr. 
Burch, and fits of coloring.

"Do you play hockey, Brandon?"

"Yep," said Brandon, studying the end of his sandwich before biting into
it.  "Dad took me, Tyler and Adam, in the wintertime."

"Years ago," Mr.  Burch started, "I used to play for a Senior-A-team.  I
was almost ready to play for the NHL, but I was never called up.  I did
play once, with a man that was called up though.  He was a fine player. 
Bill Moore.  That was his name."

My heart leapt to my throat.  "Tutter Moore?" I asked through the screen.

The old man was startled.  He looked at me.  "Yes, that's him...was called
up to Boston a few times.  You've heard of him?"

"Yes," I said, my voice cracking, "You're eating lunch with his grandson."

The old man looked back to Brandon.  He stared for a few moments.  Brandon
looked innocently at Mr.  Burch.

"Yes...  I see now.  He looks very much like Tutter.  And the nanny, is
Lillian?"

"Yes," I replied.

The old man clasped Brandon's hand.

"Brandon, I owe you an apology.  You were right, and I was wrong. 
Everybody 'does' know everybody."

Written By:
~ Lea MacDonald ~  
inventor@adan.kingston.net