“Bill, vacuum the living room. Grandma’s coming.” I wasn’t the only one to receive directions, and soon the house was a hotspur of activity as we cleaned, dusted and put things away.
Grandma and Grandpa lived halfway across the next state, where they owned and operated a small, rural convenience store. The distance wasn’t insurmountable, but their hours were. At that time, state laws made them close on Sunday, and that was their only day off.
This Thanksgiving was different, though. My grandparents had retired, sold the store, their house and relocated just a few blocks away.
Older, now, I didn’t share the excitement of my younger siblings. While they giggled and chatted, I felt the weight of my 13 years and maintained my dignity as I pushed the vacuum back and forth. I was almost grown up, while they were just kids.
Once the house was all shipshape and the scent of the turkey and other delights wafted from the kitchen, Terri and Judy sat with baby David by the window and kept vigil. Every time a car rounded the corner, they’d perk up, then settle back down when it drove past the house without stopping.
I went down the stairs to my room and the comfort of a book. For a while, passing cars caught my ear, though, and I’d peek out the window to see if it was them. The book soon drew me in, and I paid no attention to traffic sounds. I didn’t even notice when one car slowed, pulled into our driveway and stopped.
A sudden burst of commotion after the front door opened took me from my book, and I raced upstairs to join the throng.
Grandma gave me a warm hug, then held me out at arm’s distance. “You’re getting so big!”
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.