I have one hand in my pocket

I rarely carry cash around (as evident by the many lunches I owe coworkers) and often times find bones of it in pockets. Tonight as I threw on my jacket from last years cold spell I found a bill wrapped around the inner chest pocket. Like a time capsule my mind raced to when the green had found its way in there. The times are so rare that I carry money that it shouldn’t be hard to recall the exact moment.

Problem was that I couldn’t remember where the cash was from or how it made its way into my pocket. Memories are like the old cash in a pocket, a pleasant surprise when you find them later on. Tonight one of my old memories came front and center.

There are very few people that have known me beyond a stretch of three or four years. My life has been filled with suitcases and military duty locations and therefore never afforded the chance to know people long. Even portions of my family know less than those choice friends closest to me.

Each generalization has its exception and the Franklin’s are mine. When asked how many grandparents I have I always mention three sets. A peruse through photo albums would leave you the impression they were without asking. Mrs. Dee taught me about the Eucharist, Mr. Franklin taught me the importance of accelerating in corners and being a man. Dotted through my past you will see them there standing next to me at key points in my life.

Grandparents are misrepresented by their names. Some grandparents separate the grand from parents and raise their offspring’s children. Some Grandparents are simply a card and a check on holidays. The Franklin’s were my Grandparents in the sense of love and caring.

“We are so proud of you! You have turned into a successful handsome man. You love God and He loves you.” Mrs. Dee smiled and spoke to me as she grasped my stunted frame. Seeing her after 5 years was much like reaching into that pocket and finding cash. I began to remember that the last time she had embraced me like that was after my divorce and post-hurricane Katrina. Her eyes were filled with tears, but not the joyous type that her eyes now excreted. She worried for me then and seeing me now must be a similar feeling. We are both glad that God picked me back up and happy to be there to help each other see that.

I think I might just put the notes back in my pocket. Hopefully next year when I throw the jacket on she will be there to give me a sizable hug again. Hopefully she will still be there to tell me how proud she is. Hopefully I will still be that man.