Walking
hand-in-hand with my not-quite-two-year-old grandson on a sunny spring morning,
I remembered the many walks my mom took with my own young son. Each morning, Mom
invited Steve for a walk to the corner market to pick up a few supplies for the
day, though I think her real purpose was to have her little grandson all to
herself for a thirty-minute daily adventure. Holding his hand {that barely stretched
from one side of her palm to the other}, they unhurriedly headed down the gravel
sidewalk, searching for roly-polies and pretty rocks. I loved hearing their
stories when they returned. Mom told me one of her favorite things to do as
they walked was to remind Steve how much she loved him.
“You
know what?” she asked with a singsong lilt.
“What,
Gramma?”
“I
love you.”
One
morning she asked her daily question, but Steve’s response changed. “I know
what. You love me.”
“But do you know how much I love you?”
“How
much?” Steve was eager to learn just how much his gramma—who he adored—loved
him.
She
stopped, squatted to his eye level, and with her hand that wasn't holding his, she pressed pinkie to
thumb. “I love you thiiiissss” {pulling “this” into an eight second syllable as
she stretched her pinkie and thumb as far from each other as possible} “much!”
With
wide blue eyes, my little son thought “thiiiissss” was about as much love as
anyone could possibly hold.
Remembering
the sweet tradition my mom kept with my son, I knew that Zeke was still too young
to understand my question, but I just had to ask….
“You
know what, Zeke?” …..
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