As I reached down to fiddle with the lace on my sock, he patted my hand. His gentle reminder to pay attention to the minister. To listen to the message. I couldn't tell him that I was paying attention. I was listening. To do so would have been disrespectful. And, how could I say anything in the middle of the sermon?
So I stopped. I dropped the ribbon of lace and gently swung my leg down. The lights reflected off of the patent on my shoes where they had just been polished this morning.
And then, he reached in his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a piece. I could smell it the minute it left his pocket. He slid it across the wood and I eagerly took it from him and quietly opened it. I glanced up at him to see a brief smile cross his face and a nod.
It was always the same when we stayed the weekend at father's parents. It was always inside his jacket pocket. Just waiting mid-sermon for this little girl to need it.
Was it a distraction? A reward? A bribe? I'm not really sure. But for me, it was our moment. Our special exchange. My connection to my grandfather. And for that I am always thankful.
