She stood there holding the big glass door open for me, looking up with a wide
trusting smile that lit her face and immediately warmed my heart. I guessed she
was about eight. Her grandfather walked ahead of her with a younger girl,
probably her sister. He’d picked them up from daycare at the Ark, a childcare
center at the Methodist Church.
The girls skipped and ran to the car, giggling loudly as they raced ahead of the
grandfather. Suddenly the older one stopped and grabbed his hand, talking
earnestly in a low voice. I missed her first few words.
He looked to be about 60, with mostly white hair pulled back in a long thick pony
tail trailing down his back and tied with many black elastic bands, each carefully
spaced an inch apart. I noticed his polished cowboy boots and blue jeans as he
bent down to face his granddaughter eye to eye. He looked like a physicist I
decided, and I liked how carefully he listened to her, nodding thoughtfully as she
talked. “I just could’t do it, Grampa.”
“What do you mean, you couldn’t do it?”
“You know! I’m just a girl.”
Grampa shook his ponytail, stood up and led her to the car. “You can do it! You
just have to figure out how to it your way. You may not have huge body strength,
but you can think through a problem using your brain. Being strong is good. But
being smart is better.”
She studied him thoughtfully as he buckled her into her seat. Narrowing her blue
eyes, she leaned in and stared at him. “So I just use my brain to figure out how
to do stuff?”
He nodded. “You are not just a girl. You are smart. Figure it out, and do it your
own way.” (Journal 6/6/17)