It was a cold winter day in December, about one week before Christmas when I walked into the house where I lived with my Grandfather and Grandmother. My Grandfather was sitting at the well lit dining room table with his magnifying glass and his large print edition of Reader's Digest.
He chuckled to himself at something I was too lazy to read while I put my cold damp green down winter coat in the closet.
"Don't put that away yet," he was smiling my way with a toothy grin. All his real teeth, he would remind me now and again as he drank a soda or ate some chocolate cake with milk poured over it in a bowl, just like he ate blueberries in season.
I stopped in mid motion, not hanging the coat that was now on a hanger.
"Why?" I asked wondering if he needed me to bring in the garbage can, or get something from the shed. The snow wasn't deep enough to shovel yet.
"I need you to take me shopping while your Grandmother is out."
His speech was strained, slow and thoughtfully articulated. Age had not robbed him of the intelligence that won him his careers and degrees. He had been a Meteorologist, Civil Engineer and leading Criminal Psychologist retiring twice with full benefits both times -- a man I could never become, only admire from the sidelines.
"Ah, that I can do."
He marked his place in the magazine with the oversized magnifying glass. He tried to push his chair away from the table. He failed, and tried again. He failed again. Finally, I helped him a little and let him hold my arm and walked him to the closet to get his own coat.
I left him to put on his and sat on the couch to read the paper while he fastened up his musky coat. It was musky from years of Old Spice. My earliest memories were of sitting on his lap on the rocking chair and smelling his Old Spice after shave, and wondering how the hair on anyone's arms could get that long.
His hair was white, now. It was not the deep night black it had been then. He still used Old Spice, and I could smell it as I helped him down the front steps.
I was soon in the car next to him.
"Where to?" I said, trying to not sound like a taxi driver. He was prone to the odd joke and said, "To the mall James."
That wasn't my name. I smiled at the joke.
"Which one?"
He grinned at his earlier joke, but managed to say, "Five Points."
It was the closest one, so that was no surprise. When we were in the parking lot, he directed me to park near a door in the middle of the east side of the building.
I helped him out onto the snow covered ice. He shuffled, holding my arm, and I walked slowly beside him to the door.
We entered. It was warm. I wanted to take off my coat, but I knew he wouldn't have the dexterity to take off his, so left mine alone.
He led me to a small box of a shop in one of the walls of the mall by the door. It was covered from floor to ceiling with wooden nicknacks and snow globes and trinkets that couldn't serve any useful purpose but to look at and be seen.
The lady behind the counter said, "Hello, can I help you?"
I remained quiet, waiting for my Grandfather to respond. He slowly explained that he wanted to hear the small wooden music box in the glass case in front of her.
"This one?" It wasn't what she said, but how she spoke, like I would speak to a child learning to speak. I felt my teeth clench.
"Yes." He grinned a toothy grin. His natural teeth.
"This is a very nice one." She spoke in a condescending tone. "This one is nice." Each word was pronounce very slowly, as if he couldn't understand her, and she repeated everything multiple times as though he wouldn't understand otherwise.
She wound the box and it played a tune I had never hear before, but he hummed along to a forgotten tune that was not lost to him. Of course not.
"Do you like that one?" She picked one syllable words, making easy sentences. My back was tensing up as I ground my teeth.
"Yes, I'll take it." He tried to get his wallet out of his coat pocket, but finally had me get the old leather wallet out and pay. I did. I payed her. She didn't deserve the purchase.
"Have a good night," she said as she put the small wooden box in a bag. She still managed to speak down to him, even with such a common phrase.
I wanted to say, "Do you know who this is? This is one of the smartest most accomplish men you will ever meet! He's forgotten more in the past year than you have learned in your whole life! How dare you speak to him like a child?"
I didn't. I didn't say anything. He would not have approved. This man who could bench press well over 200 pounds in his youth was also gentle, patient and smiled as though she was one of the nicest people he had met this year.
He said, "Thank you," and took the bag. With his free arm he took my right arm and shuffled, leading me out into the cold snow and ice. I helped him into his car seat and closed his door for him.
I looked at him while he fastened his seat belt slowly on the other side of the car door, and whispered a "thank you" that only the snow and wind heard.