The Writing on The Wall

 

I became his grandfather by default. I am the biological grandfather of his older half-brother and half-sister and the three of them with their mother came to live with us after losing their housing.

The two older kids have always had bedrooms in our house and have spent long periods of time staying with us throughout their lives. He hadn’t spent much time with us and getting used to his new surroundings took some time. After the first month or so he became comfortable with us and his role in the family.

 

“My real grandfather died” he told me “So you’re my grandfather now”

 

I took on the role easily since the other two children had always known me as “Grampa” anyway.

 

He was quiet and reserved at first but he became more embolden and more confident as time went by. He began to look what was in the closets. He opened draws to see what was inside. He began to take snacks from the cupboards without asking anyone. He would leave his shoes and jacket on the floor in the middle of the room. Typical kid stuff.

 

I was also becoming more accustomed to having children living in the house again and I began feeling more at ease with the traditional grandfather role which occasional included the need to discipline or admonish.

 

One afternoon I walked into the living room and caught my newest grandson writing on the wall.

 

“What are you doing?” I snapped. “You’re old enough to know better than to be writing on the wall.”

 

Surprised, he dropped the pencil and started crying.

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied “I don’t know why I did it. I’ll never do it again.”

 

Still a little angry, I sent him to his room to think about what he did. He went running off to his room. I could still hear him whimpering as I was in the kitchen gathering a sponge and some cleaning supplies.

 

 I returned to the living room to try and clean the wall. He had written on the dark wooden trim which surrounded the doorway. It wasn’t immediately clear what he had written but on closer inspection I was able to decipher what it said and my anger instantly turned into empathy.

 

 Three simple words: Home Sweet Home.