“I’ve something to show ya,”
Grandpa would say,
His hushed voice just above a whisper.
Dutifully I would follow him,
And sit on his uncomfortable lap,
Trapped by his arms on both sides
That are holding a book in front of me,
In his favorite, blue-plaid chair.
Undoubtedly,
The book would be a
Nature guide
With detailed pictures of butterflies,
Or moths,
Or trees,
Or flowers,
Or other things he loved.
Or, more than likely,
I could see all of the above,
Categorized by the country
Each stamp came from,
Plastic and paper crinkling,
As he carefully turned each page
Of his beloved collection.
“I’ve got something to show ya.”
And he showed me:
How to draw a circle with a compass,
What a blue print looks like,
An old German book of sermons,
And pictures so old,
He didn’t even know who the people were.
Soon, I got too big for Grandpa’s lap,
But he never changed.
He still wanted to show me things.
This time: A book all about music.
He turns to the Tuba page,
And points to a Sousaphone.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“There is no way it could be that big!”
“No, Grandpa, they really are, I’ve seen them!”
“Good grief!”
Months later, he says,
“I’ve got something to show ya.”
A book all about music.
He turns to page marked “Tuba”
And exclaims,
jabbing his finger at the Sousaphone,
“Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“Yes,” I patiently reply.
“Is it really that big?”
“Yes, Grandpa, they really are that big.”
“Humph!”
Weeks later:
A book all about music.
A page marked “Tuba.”
He laughs at the Sousaphone.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“Yes,” I sadly reply.
“Is it really that big?”
“Yes, Grandpa, they really are that big.”
He smiles blankly at me. “’Grandpa?’”
He can’t show me things anymore.
I wish he could.
But, I believe that someday,
When I leave this world,
I will see him standing there at the Gate.
“I’ve got something to show ya,” he’ll say.
I’ll match him grin for grin. “Yes, Grandpa, I’m sure you do.”
Finding Love in Wonton Soup 