Grandpas' Being Followed By a "boon" Shadow...

"Booooon!", the tiny figure cradled in my lap crooned. "Dain Deah!" he added. To a consonant challenged thirteen month old, this is exactly how the magical words "moon" and "reindeer" are pronounced.

Earlier in the day, my grandson and I had taken a bath in our big jacuzzi bathtub - grandpa dressed in his swimming trunks, Grant in the suit that nature gave to him. While grandma laughed and enjoyed the sight of us two boys splashing around, playing with rubber duckies and frogs, I savored the moment as I always do. Together, Eileen and I got his little, squirming appendages clean and shiny. His beautiful blond hair was soaped then rinsed of it's Johnsons Baby shampoo.

Later on towards evening, I changed his mush filled diaper (being very careful to clean all the little boy crevices), then dressed Grant in his soft brown pajamas with the little basketballs on them. I could tell he was winding down from a long day of sled rides, playing Match Box cars and strewing various toys with reckless abandon all around the surface of our living room.

"Wanna go jumpin on the bed before nite-nite?", I inquired. He loves to bounce around on grandpa and grandma's good old "Sleep Number". Grant toddled over to the bedroom door.

I could tell his energy level was getting low however so instead of flinging him through the air to land on a pillow like a miniature superman, I turned off the lights and we sat down on the edge of the bed to look out at the night landscape. His hair still smelled sweetly of baby shampoo. His warm body filled my lap.

In Grant's mind, a partially hidden street light looks exactly like the moon. The two brightly illuminated, left over Christmas reindeer we keep on the lawn just for his visits thrill him to no end. For fifteen minutes I will never forget, we gazed in wonder at the imaginary planets, the head lights of trucks coming in from ice-fishing on the lake and yes, the "Dain Deah".

Grant has returned to his mommy and daddy's home but sometime, as we stride across the wooden floors of our home, grandma or grandpa will undoubtedly step barefoot on a left over, sharp metal car or plastic building block. And when we do, we will sorely miss the dear little boy who marvels at the moon.