Like everyone else growing up, I had many friends, most of which lived in my neighborhood. There was the girl next door who 's mom made the best dumplings, or the boys up the street who loved riding bikes and skateboards and playing x-box, or the kids on the adjacent street to mine who made homemade go-karts and tree forts. But these are only kids in my neighborhood, what about the adults?
Across the street from me lived an older couple, “The Benners,” says a small metal sign in the front yard. Almost every afternoon they would take the same path as they had the 40 something years they had lived in the neighborhood. They would visit their daughter, Mrs. Holly, who was grown up with her own son who was off in college. On most school days if …show more content…
Holly had a genuine interest in my life, even though little happens in the life of a six-year-old. I would tell them about how “I just learned to add!” and a drum I was making for and “African Market” at school where we traded handmade arts and crafts with fake currency.
One day in February, I found a colorful bag in our mailbox, which contained a stuffed frog and pig each holding a large red heart to celebrate Valentine’s Day. A small note said that they were for my brother and me from the Benners and Mrs. Holly. I immediately raced across the street to the Benners, forgetting to wear shoes, to ring the doorbell and give them a hug.
Mr. Benner smiled as he peeped through the not-so-subtle peephole on the front door. He opened the door and Mrs. Benner bent down to give me a hug. Mrs. Benner loved me, and I loved her; she was like my grandparent, I, her grandson. She was rhythmic in that you knew what she would say, “How was school today?,” and you knew where she would be, out on a walk with Mr. Benner. The other kids my age in the neighborhood didn’t talk to her the same way I did. In fact, they were almost scared of her. Why? A peculiar device on her …show more content…
I remember her voice being a bit different, but other than that I only remember her palpable warmness whenever she would speak. When I saw her and Mr. Benner walking together outside, I would yell, “My friends are here! My friends are here!” and rush outside. Her predictable, yet honest smile brought me the greatest happiness. You know a person is good inside based upon the authenticity of their smile. There was not a single bad bone in Mrs. Benner.
Mrs. Benner died a couple years ago.
I was too young to go to her funeral, but I remember the heartbreak it caused me. Now that I am older and busier with less youthful energy to share, I don’t find the same time to visit Mr. Benner or Mrs. Holly like I used to. However, in a different way, I find myself the same. My grandmother has a gleaming smile like Mrs. Benner had, and a friend from middle school has a similar breathing device to Mrs. Benner’s.
I sometimes wonder if I still am the same energetic six-year-old boy I used to be. At first, the answer is always no; I am not the most outgoing, and I love to sleep in late. But when I connect with someone of any age, like I did with Mrs. Benner, that younger, playful me witnesses the world
Across the street from me lived an older couple, “The Benners,” says a small metal sign in the front yard. Almost every afternoon they would take the same path as they had the 40 something years they had lived in the neighborhood. They would visit their daughter, Mrs. Holly, who was grown up with her own son who was off in college. On most school days if …show more content…
Holly had a genuine interest in my life, even though little happens in the life of a six-year-old. I would tell them about how “I just learned to add!” and a drum I was making for and “African Market” at school where we traded handmade arts and crafts with fake currency.
One day in February, I found a colorful bag in our mailbox, which contained a stuffed frog and pig each holding a large red heart to celebrate Valentine’s Day. A small note said that they were for my brother and me from the Benners and Mrs. Holly. I immediately raced across the street to the Benners, forgetting to wear shoes, to ring the doorbell and give them a hug.
Mr. Benner smiled as he peeped through the not-so-subtle peephole on the front door. He opened the door and Mrs. Benner bent down to give me a hug. Mrs. Benner loved me, and I loved her; she was like my grandparent, I, her grandson. She was rhythmic in that you knew what she would say, “How was school today?,” and you knew where she would be, out on a walk with Mr. Benner. The other kids my age in the neighborhood didn’t talk to her the same way I did. In fact, they were almost scared of her. Why? A peculiar device on her …show more content…
I remember her voice being a bit different, but other than that I only remember her palpable warmness whenever she would speak. When I saw her and Mr. Benner walking together outside, I would yell, “My friends are here! My friends are here!” and rush outside. Her predictable, yet honest smile brought me the greatest happiness. You know a person is good inside based upon the authenticity of their smile. There was not a single bad bone in Mrs. Benner.
Mrs. Benner died a couple years ago.
I was too young to go to her funeral, but I remember the heartbreak it caused me. Now that I am older and busier with less youthful energy to share, I don’t find the same time to visit Mr. Benner or Mrs. Holly like I used to. However, in a different way, I find myself the same. My grandmother has a gleaming smile like Mrs. Benner had, and a friend from middle school has a similar breathing device to Mrs. Benner’s.
I sometimes wonder if I still am the same energetic six-year-old boy I used to be. At first, the answer is always no; I am not the most outgoing, and I love to sleep in late. But when I connect with someone of any age, like I did with Mrs. Benner, that younger, playful me witnesses the world