Meeting Grandfather McKenzie

The park is nearly deserted. Apparently recently cleaned, the fountain bubbles pleasantly, inviting my fingers to dabble in the water. It is colder than it looks, but it feels fresh – like a fountain should. Maybe there is extra magic to the first coin in the fountain after it has been cleaned. Even if not, I pull out a shiny penny from my purse, turn my back, close my eyes and take a deep breath. Plop!

“For luck, Kathryn?” a voice in front of me asks. I open my eyes to see an old man in a wheelchair being pushed by a younger black man.

“Grandfather?” I query to the wheelchair-bound man.
~
“Do you play?” Grandfather asks, as his fingers touch the wooden box on his lap. There is an inlayed checker square on top of the box, surrounded with carving and other marquetry designs. It looks old and opulent – and he handles it like it is a treasure.

“Yes,” I say, not entirely certain of the game he has in mind, but sure I am able.

James takes the box, positioning it on the bench between Grandfather and me. Grandfather opens the lid, and begins to remove chess pieces.

“Black or white?”

“Black, always black,” I say without thinking that he might have preferred black. The pieces are heavy and smooth. I think the black are mahogany. The white men are a lighter wood, not oak, maybe something exotic – nothing I recognize. I like the feel of them, as I set my men in place on the board.

James locks the chair brakes, and retires to a nearby bench to watch. The game begins.

“Your move,” Grandfather says with an impatient look of ‘get on with it, girl.’

Apparently, this is not meant to be a leisurely game. I ease into the competition looking for hints of his strategy. His moves indicate Grandfather is a serious player. He seems to have no intention of holding back.

I lose my queen’s bishop.

Then, I will not hold back out of politeness. The game moves on. There is no conversation. “Your move,” is all Grandfather says – and only when he thinks I am taking too long to move my men. Maybe it is part of his strategy to rush me. I take his rook. He takes more of my men, and my pawns fall mercilessly.

I move, “Check.”

He stops dead! His hands retreat to his lap. “That is your father’s move,” he says. “Enough of the game; you are Kathryn McKenzie!”

With a slight grin, he waves toward James. The game board is removed. It is all a little odd. I hadn’t expected a test of my parentage. Goodness, there are DNA tests for that. Grandfather settles his hands together in his lap.

“Tell me about yourself. Are you married?”
“No.”
“Dating?”
“Sometimes.”
“Children?” He seems to have a litany.

I stop the rhythm of the questions with a pause. “No,” I say with a sound of boundary-setting finality.

He leans back in his chair slightly and studies me. “You must look like your mother.”

“I look like me.” I’m beginning to enjoy our volley back and forth.

He grins. “Yes, I suppose so.” Grandfather twists in his chair to view James. Without exchanging words, James gets up, and releases the brakes on the chair. From behind Grandfather’s chair, James flashes a big smile that lasts only a minute and is gone. I smile in response.

“Shall we meet again, Kathryn?”

From High Tide: http://www.nadinelamanbooks.com/

Play date

Around the corner from our house is a neighborhood play area. It has the usual little kid climb-on things and swings, all under a shade canopy -- smart, this is sunny Arizona. The ground in the play area is that spongy rubber stuff in case someone falls.

How did we ever live through childhood with so few safety devices? Goodness, I used to climb trees; ride my bike down the hill pedaling as fast as I could, then coasting through the intersection with my hands in the air [no helmet]; jump off the garage to feel airborne -- briefly -- then climb up and do it again; disappear into the desert for hours... I never broke a bone or went to the hospital. Besides, we never mentioned small injuries, if they stopped bleeding, because someone would say, "Well, you'll be ok. Rub it, it will stop hurting. I love you. Be more careful next time." It was OUR responsibility to be careful. That is how they taught us life-lessons. Simple. Easy. Direct.

Last week, I overheard the neighborhood kids discussing the parent imposed ban on playing in neighbor's yards. Too bad, I thought. We have great hiding places in our yard. I'd rather have the kids than the people who walk their dogs and leave 'gifts' and yellow spots in our lawn. The kids are more interesting.

I went outside the other day and ran into a kid almost at our front door.
He stopped suddenly. Fearful.
I said, "Are you hiding or seeking?"
"Hiding," he whispered.
"Ok," I whispered back.
He started to breathe again and swiftly hid.
I stood at the mailbox as the other kid ran past looking for him. No one would dare hide in a yard with an adult outside, so he didn't look by our door. Heh heh, I helped the hidden kid. (But, sometimes, I point where to look.) Over by the palm tree is another good hiding place -- just I thought I'd mention.

Yesterday afternoon when I was sitting in my office writing, outside my window was the sound of two giggling girls about six years old. We have older boys, so I stopped to listen to these girly voices. They were excited sounds. I could almost imagine the girls wiggling and squirming. Suddenly they broke into high pitched screams that rattled the window. The boys (not mine) must have come out.

We have a fountain in our front yard. It is a really, really, really large 'ball' set in a bowl on top of a low pedestal. Sometimes I find rocks from our landscape in the bowl and wonder who has the record for chucking a rock into the bowl from the sidewalk. I don't ask.

No one has come forward.

It's funny how kids haven't changed much from when we were kids. It is kind of refreshing to see children still manage to have fun with nothing more than a bike and the neighbor's yard.

There is still hope for the future, I think.