My 17 year old grandson has invited me to his band's first public concert! Holy cats! Am I ever amazed...
See, the thing is, he's really into cool...no, I mean it...REALLY into cool, way cool...and having a grandmother around may not be the coolest thing that this guy does. Still, he invited me a couple of weeks ago. I stopped in at Radio Shack to check on an order, and he works at the video rental place next door. He happened to see me and walked over, really cool-like and said, "Hey...Gram...whatcha doin' on the 15th?" I have no idea what I'm doin' tomorrow, never mind the 15th, so I asked him why.
"'Cause me and my band? Havin a concert? In the gym? Wanna come?"
No, really, that's how he talks...in short, monotone questions...too funny! Too cool...
So, am I goin' to his concert? You damn betcha I am! I wouldn't miss this for the world...this is my first grandson, my best little boy in the whole wide world grandson...
Best little boy in the whole wide world...that started a lot of years ago when he was really little, maybe 3 or 4. One Christmas, he was deathly sick to his stomach, in bed and sadder than you can imagine, because he was sooooo sick and sooooo throwing up...I slipped quietly into his bedroom during the evening, to check on him and to comfort him if he needed comforting.
He was huddled under his quilt, the one with the big fat teddy bear on it that I had made for him. I bent down, very softly brushed his sweat-wet hair from his forehead and he opened his eyes, as they filled with tears that ran down his perfect cheeks and into his ears. "I'm s-s-s-sorry, Mugga...I-I-I didn't mean to s-s-s-spoil your Christmas by being sick..." he stammered, between sobs.
"You didn't spoil anything, dear child, " I reassured him.
"Yes, I d-d-did, I s-s-s-spoiled everything for everybody", he insisted, wiping the flood of fresh tears from his face. "I got sick and that spoiled everything..."
I sat on the edge of his bed, placed my hand along the curve of his cheek and looked into his eyes, reassuring him that nothing was spoiled at all, that we were all very worried about him and only wanted him to be feeling better.
"B-b-b-ut, I'm the worst little boy in the whole wide world for being sick all over everything," he insisted, his fresh tears and fresh sobs playing havoc with my heart.
"Now, you must listen to your Mugga, I have something important to tell you and you need to listen really carefully, so you don't miss it," I said. "Here's the thing ~ for me, you are the best little boy in the whole wide world. For me, there are no other little boys as good as you, do you know that?"
He stopped, lay quietly for awhile and then opened his eyes, looked straight into my heart and asked, "Really? You mean that for sure, Mugga?"
"For sure, Tris, for absolutely sure," I replied.
He lay very still for a few minutes, absorbing this new idea I'd given him, and then he smiled a little tiny smile and said, "Yeah, I'm YOUR best little boy in the whole wide world, aren't I?"
"You bet you are, and there aren't any others better than you, so don't you ever forget that, ok?" I said, looking at him and smiling...
A large sigh escaped his lips, he gave me another smile, turned over onto his side, closed his eyes, and hugging my hand, he rested. It wasn't a minute later that he was breathing the deep, slow even breaths of exhaustion. My little boy, my very best little boy in the whole wide world was sound asleep.
He didn't wake til morning...did that have anything to do with my telling him that he was my best little boy? Maybe, or maybe he was simply so tired from being sick that he fell asleep at that moment. I don't really know, but I choose to believe that my comforting him and reassuring him may have had a tiny little bit to do with it.
So, will I go to his rock concert on Saturday evening? You damn betcha I'm goin'...it's not every grandmother that gets invited to a rock concert by her best little boy in the whole wide world!
Rock on, Tris, rock on...