A Piedmont Porchlight Story
Hattie was washing the front windows of the Coffee Cup when a little boy stopped on the sidewalk. He couldn’t have been more than five or six. He looked at the window for the longest time. Never said a word.
Finally, Hattie opened the door. “Can I help you, Honey?”
He pointed. “There’s a ladybug.”
She smiled. “Well, it sure is. How ‘bout that?”
He watched it crawl across the glass like it was putting on a show just for him. After a minute his mama called from halfway down the sidewalk. “Come on!”
“I’m coming!”
He gave the ladybug one last look. Then ran to catch up. Hattie sat down across from Curtis and me.
“You know what?”
“What?” I asked.
“I walked right past that ladybug three times.”
Curtis folded the funny papers. “So did I.”
I looked out the window. “Well, I reckon I did, too.”
Funny thing about children. They notice the things we’ve gotten too busy to see. I remember being about that little boy’s age. I knew exactly which board on Mawmaw’s porch squeaked the loudest. I knew where the biggest lightning bugs floated after dark. I knew which tree the first dogwood blooms always showed up on. I knew where the katydids sang the loudest.
And I knew the exact minute Daddy’s truck turned off the highway. Not because I could see it. Because I could hear it.
Curtis smiled. “I used to know every bird’s nest in our pasture.”
“What happened?”
“I grew up.”
Hattie nodded slowly. “I used to know where every four-leaf clover was.”
“You found that many?”
“No.”
“But I sure looked.” That made us all laugh.
Outside, Earl Johnson walked by carrying his grandson on his shoulders. The little fellow pointed toward the courthouse lawn.
“Papa!”
“What?”
“Look!”
“What am I lookin’ at?”
“That cloud looks like a rabbit.”
Earl looked up.
“I’ll be. I reckon it does.”
The little boy laughed like he’d just discovered America.
Funny thing is, by the time I looked up the rabbit was already gone. Or maybe I’d forgotten how to see it. For just a minute, none of us said anything. The ceiling fan hummed overhead. Somewhere in the kitchen, a biscuit pan clattered. Outside, the little boy was still pointing at things nobody else seemed to notice.
Hattie smiled into her coffee. “I think children remind the world to slow down.”
I nodded. “I think they remind us how.”
Funny thing about growing older. We learn how to make a living. We learn how to keep appointments. We learn how to hurry.
Children. They remind us to stop. To look at a ladybug. To watch a cloud. To listen for the first cricket of the evening. To chase one more lightning bug. Maybe that’s why grandparents enjoy children so much.
They’ve finally grown old enough to start noticing all the things they forgot.
And I reckon that’s a mighty fine way to grow young again.
olbigjim 