A Valentine For Grandma

It was just a harmless prank, that's all that it was.  And
it wasn't as though Old Lady Hayes didn't deserve it.  The
way she used to scream at us for borrowing a few of her
precious raspberries, like we were stealing gold out of Fort
Knox . . . well, she had it coming.

At least, that's the way it seemed to us as George finished
tying the string to the red, heart-shaped box.  We giggled
as Ron added the final touch: two plastic red roses, glued
to the lid of the empty valentine.

"I wonder what will surprise her most," I asked as George
and Albert practiced jerking the box out of reach by yanking
on the used kite string we had attached to it, "seeing a box
of candy on her step, or watching it fly away when she tries
to pick it up?"

We laughed as we watched George make Albert chase the empty
box around the dusty garage.  For a chubby 10-year-old
Navajo, Albert did a pretty good imitation of Mrs. Hayes's
hunched-over hobble and her seemingly permanent scowl.  And
we howled when he picked up a broom and pretended to ride it
through the midwinter air while shouting, "I'm Old Lady
Hayes, the driedest-up old prune in the West!"

Ron was the first to notice my dad in the doorway.  Within
seconds, Ron's anxiety was shared by all but Albert, who,
unaware of Dad's presence, continued to swoop around the
garage, cackling and screeching all the way, until he came
face-to-belt buckle with our silent observer.

For a few moments the only movement in the suddenly quiet
room came from the little puffs of steam that were escaping
several preadolescent mouths.  Albert pulled a face, groping
in his mind for some way to conceal the evidence now stacked
so neatly against him -- and us.

Dad broke the stillness by walking slowly to the empty candy
box lying on the floor at Albert's feet.  He picked it up
and dangled it by the string, watching it swing
incriminatingly back and forth.  Then he looked into the
eyes of the six frightened boys who anxiously watched his
every move.  And, as was his custom, he looked into their
hearts as well.

"It doesn't seem so long ago that I was pulling Valentine's
Day pranks myself," he said as he laid the heart-shaped box
on a workbench.  At first it was difficult to picture my
dignified father pulling the kind of prank we were planning.
But then I remembered a picture I had seen of him as a
child, with fiery red hair, a freckled face, green eyes and
wearing a tight, impish grin.  It was possible, I thought.

"One Valentine's Day my cousins and I decided to pull a good
one on my Grandma Walker," he continued.  "Not because we
didn't like her.  She was the sweetest grandma a boy could
ever have, and we loved her.  We were just feeling a little
devilish and decided to have some fun at her expense.

"Early in the evening we snuck up to her doorstep with a can
of red paint.  Grandma was hard of hearing, so we didn't
have to worry about being very quiet.  Which was a good
thing, because every time we thought about how funny it was
going to be to see Grandma try to pick up a valentine that
was just painted on her doorstep, we couldn't keep from
laughing.

"It didn't take long to finish.  It wasn't very artistic,
but for a bunch of farm kids and an old woman with poor
eyesight, it would do.  As soon as we were satisfied with
the painting we kicked the door and ran to hide behind
bushes and trees to watch the fun.

"There was a lot of giggling going on as we waited in the
snow for Grandma to open the door.  When she finally
appeared she stood in the doorway for a minute, peering into
the darkness, her gray hair pulled back tightly into her
usual bun, wiping her hands on her usual white apron.

"She must have heard the commotion in the bushes because she
looked in our direction as she spoke loudly enough for us to
hear: `Who could be knocking at my door this hour of the
night?'  My stomach and cheeks ached from trying to hold
back the laughter.  Then she looked down at her doorstep.
Even from 15 yards away we could see the joy that sparkled
in her eyes when she spotted the splash of red at her feet.

"`Oh, how wonderful!' she exclaimed. `A valentine for
Grandma!  And I thought I was going to be forgotten again
this year!'

"She bent down to retrieve her prize.  This was the moment
we had been waiting for, but somehow it wasn't as much fun
as we had planned.  Confused, Grandma groped at the fresh
paint for a moment.  She quickly became aware of our prank.
Her delight at having been remembered by a sweetheart on
Sweetheart's Day was short-lived.

"She tried to smile.  then, with as much dignity as she
could muster, she turned and walked back into her house,
absently wiping red paint on her clean, white apron."

Dad paused for a moment, allowing stillness to once again
settle over the cluster of attentive boys.  For the first
time I noticed that my father's eyes were moist.  He took a
deep breath.  "Grandma died later that year," he said.  "I
never had another chance to give her a real valentine."

He took the candy box from the workbench and handed it to
me.  Not another word was spoken as he turned and left the
garage.

Later that night a red, heart-shaped box with two plastic
roses on it was placed on Mrs. Hayes's front doorstep by six
giggling boys.  We hid behind snow-covered bushes and trees
to see how she would react to receiving a full pound of
candy and nuts.

With no strings attached.

Joseph Walker
Valuesguy@netscape.net

This was written by Joseph Walker & used with his permission. Thank you, Joe, for allowing me to use your beautiful story!

Created February 9, 2001