When, my grandson, Desmond Charles, was just a few years old, he and I were playing Back Gammon on the back porch of their home in Sicamous… it was a covered patio, with a door that closed off the house from that private little place there… at some point Desmond told me, that his father had called him a nasty name.
Was it a call to the court of appeal?
Was it a call for Grampa, his Daddy’s Dad, to help him with his Daddy who wasn’t playing by the rules?
What did I do?
If I remember correctly, I called his Daddy, my son-in-law, into the room, to talk things over… I’d fix it, right?
That’s a common choice in my life! It a well worn path/choice…
…and what transpired?
Clint doubled down on what he said, and so I was ineffective…
and now all these years later, I’m left to only guess what wound was left behind…
But is it any wonder, that ever since that day… if my visit to them all is announced ahead of time… that Desmond fails to appear at the door to greet me, indeed, he takes more than just a few hours to come to me …. On a couple of occasions, I’ve made a surprise visit, and he’s jumped into my arms… and shown his cards… he loves me as much as I love him, maybe more, if such a thing were possible.
So today… constantly haunted my that memory I wrote…
Running Down Vimy 