A Child's Gift
This morning, despite setting the alarm for 8:55 so I could make it to a doctor appointment by 11am, I woke up at 10:45. Luckily, the office is only about 12 minutes away. That is, when they aren’t working on the road. Which they are. The road crew posted signs that one of the two lanes was closed, though no one knew why, because both lanes were open the entire length of said road work. However, we drivers were unsure whether to trust the posted signs or our own eyes, so we merged from one lane to the other and back again, like a great indecisive caterpillar. After we finally trusted our collective gut, and broke up into the two lanes, we exchanged WTF? expressions and similar gestures of solidarity at the next stop light.
The appointment this morning was a pre-op wellness exam. The EKG looked great. Eight vials of blood were taken, and after the doctor fondled my balls, he stuck his finger well up my rectum and said, “Well, this is all good.” To which I replied, “You speak for yourself, I can tell you.”
When the doctor got through with me, I had an hour and a half to drive four blocks to where I was scheduled for chest x-rays. I had to fast for the blood draw. Fortunately, though I was in a rush, I’d thought to bring a banana and some water with me. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten my wallet. I didn’t want to drive back over that road to get it, and then over it again to radiology, so buying myself a decent lunch was out. I just went to radiology, wishing I’d brought, if not my wallet, a book.
The radiology receptionist asked for my name and birthdate, and then asked “What time is your appointment?” Without hesitation, I answered, “One-forty-five.” Even so, she advised me that I was an hour and a half early. “Everyone’s out to lunch. Would you like to go home and come back a little later?” “Not on your life,” I said. Her expression assured me that was a much larger investment than she had any intention to chance. “Just have a seat, sir.”
She handed me a clipboard and I sat to read and sign a form stating that I understood my financial responsibility should my insurance not cover the procedure (again, a chest x-ray) which was worded unlike any financial responsibility form I’ve ever seen. I read it three times and signed it feeling as though someone was trying to pull a fast one on me. Moments later, I was called to the back. I’m sure I hadn’t waited even 20 minutes. I figured I wasn’t the only one who missed lunch.
There was roadwork on the drive home as well. Again “this lane closed ahead” signs were posted though both lanes were clearly open, but we drivers were onto them this time, and sped along smoothly. That is, until we got to a crop of newly installed traffic signals, and our smiles and our up-stuck thumbs dropped as we all had to brake suddenly. Thing is, the new signals weren’t in operation yet. No red, yellow, or green directives. Just clusters of stoic, non-communicative rectangular boxes suspended out over the road, staring blankly. Again, we exchanged various gestures of confusion and frustration, not only between each other, but this time, with the cross-traffic drivers as well. We were a growing population.
When I got home, a bit flustered, a bit back-achy, a bit violated, I found a little stack of papers and books on my doorstep. In red felt-pen, in a child’s hand, on a sheet of lined paper but not on the lines were the words “To: *Sassy and *Sparky’s Grandpa” (*not their real names). Taped to it were a pristine Sweet Scents Shopkins Collectors Card, a #1 bauble that had likely once been attached to a keychain, and a paper heart colored with red crayon. The heart was smiling.
Under that was a very similar sheet of paper saying “To: Sassy, my BFF” onto which a book titled The Incredible Present was taped, along with a hand-drawn and colored smiling Emoji with a speech bubble that said “From: Kathy. I love you.”
Under that was another sheet of paper, this one penned in green, that said “To Sparky from your friend Luke.” This one was taped to a book titled Five True Stories of Baseball’s Best.
These children, Kathy and Luke, are a brother and sister who live on my street, who happen to be the same ages as my two youngest grandkids. Because this general area is not always safe and tranquil, I do not allow my grandkids to play on the sidewalk. These two children are also not allowed to play on the sidewalk. So, one day, after my two and those two saw each other from across the street, I went over and introduced myself to the parents, and invited their two to play with my two in my front yard. We have lots of toys and art supplies and stuff here, and more importantly, a fence, which they don’t have.
In no time, I recognized that they’re good kids. Really good kids – polite, respectful, and obviously very excited to have other kids to play with. Mine shared a bag of grapes with them, they ran home and came back with four juice-boxes, the two boys shared each other’s cars, the girls played school. They’ve only recently met, and have spent such time in my yard only twice, when I babysat my grandkids.
But these little gifts! Quite unexpected, and so sweet, and colorful, too. And they arrived on kind of a bummer day.
I left the little stack of affection and kindness on my desk, intact, just as I'd found it, anxious for the next day my grandkids visit; Saturday, probably.