Such a pleasant, sunny morning, and
as I circled Covenant Woods, my mind filled with pleasant memories. In the
early 80s, we lived on Harmon Road in Ashtabula. Russ hadn’t started school,
and I was home most mornings.
“Daddy, let’s go get donuts,” Russ
said.
“Want to walk to the Squire Shoppe?”
“I’ll walk.”
“The whole way; there and back?”
“Yep, the whole way.”
We walked down East 6th
Street, passed the railroad yard and the hopper cars full of coal. Then across
the lift bridge, where we stopped for a minute to look at the lake boat taking
on a load of coal. Then up Bridge Street to the Squire Shoppe.
Russ always ordered two powdered
donuts and a glass of milk. I got whatever struck my fancy that day and some
coffee. Russ led me to an empty table. We ate our goodies, talked a little, and
looked out the window, while those around us discussed the Indians, the Browns,
and local politics.
When we started back home, we didn’t
get far before Russ said he was tired and wanted me to carry him.
“But you said . . .”
“I know, but I’m tired.”
I tried to look disgruntled, but I
couldn’t hold back the smile. This was the game we played once or twice a week.
Back at Covenant Woods, my mind
turned to memories I’d like to make. Memories of being in Idaho with my
daughter, Beth, her husband, Ken, and the grandkids, Hayden (7), and MaKenna
(4).
Beth, Ken, and I would be sitting on
the porch, as Hayden and MaKenna played in the yard. Then the kids would come
running, yelling, “Grandpa, Grandpa, can we go get some donuts?”
I’d look over to Beth and Ken, who
would be discretely mouthing, “No.” Then I’d look into the imploring eyes of
the two kids now sitting on my lap, and I’d say, “Sure, let’s get some donuts.”
That’s what a grandpa is supposed to
do. Isn’t it?
