Children are the true connoisseurs, what’s precious to them has no price just value.
(Bel Kaufman) 

Two-year-old Adeline takes my finger, not my hand. Her hands aren’t big enough yet. Her charisma is sunshine mid-summer style. Time to play. I am the only other kid available. My granddaughter doesn’t seem to care about the seventy-three-year age difference.

The make-believe electric surface of her toy stove would be on if the scene were real. A wooden cell phone lies on the right front burner. Adeline needs my help to get corn on the cob out of the coffee pot. Strange, I’ve never faced this problem in my own kitchen.

She pulls two t-shirts out of her drawer and puts one on her head and one on mine. The procession begins. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have enough vocabulary to explain the ritual. I do understand the end of the game when she takes both shirts, returns them to the drawer and says, “all done.”

I don’t understand much of what my youngest grandchild says. I do comprehend her laughter, her enthusiasm, and her love. The slightest sound calls for a dance. Why walk when you can run? World ugliness hasn’t touched her yet. My son and daughter-in-law provide a place where love lives. She is blessed but doesn’t know it yet. I accept the warmth of her hand and revel in her innocence.

When my husband and I close the door and say goodbye, our little one cries. The reality of the outside world appears occasionally. When another child grabs one of her toys. When sickness appears. When fun ends too soon.

We will come back. In person. In the flat space known as facetime. The fullness of reality will arrive slowly. Hatred, pain, destruction, are real. Yet, when I look into her eyes and savor her personality, I want her to be a fresh, simple toddler forever.

Not every child knows the blessings our granddaughter lives. I consider the outgrown clothing I have in a drawer and realize they need a home.

If only I could pull an infant shirt from a drawer, put it in a bag for a child who needs it and say, “all done.” In the meantime, I celebrate what I have, do what I can for somebody else, anyone else, and let time do what it will. Perhaps somehow, I will grow up, too, and understand the difference between peace and pieces.

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