PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

When I was a little girl, I loved going to my grandparent’s house. For quite some time, I was the youngest grandchild and being the youngest had its perks. My older cousins thought I was the cutest and loved playing with me, my aunts and uncles were always trying to make me laugh, but the attention that I loved the most, (and boy did I love attention) was the one that came in the form of my grandfather. Like my cousins, he thought I was the cutest, but he was especially fond of my big round cheeks. He always called me “Mrs. Cheeks”, which later turned into “My little Squirrel”. Around late September or early October days, nut season began. I remember I used to go to my grandpa’s room, it was always cluttered with stuff he’d buy from street vendors, and it was up to the brim with different types of candies, creating a very sweet scent. He was always watching some kind of sport on the TV. If it wasn’t basketball, it was baseball. If it wasn’t soccer, it was football. He loved sports. I only stood still by the door, twisting my little finger anxiously into the curls that used to grow in my hair, waiting expectantly for the game to end. After it ended, he used to stand up, stretch his long arms and legs and take my small hand. He’d say, “come my little squirrel, let’s go get you some food”. He’d lead me outside, and into a little corner in their huge garden, where a nut tree stood, tall and proud. First, we began picking up the nuts that the tree had already dropped. Then he used to reach down and carry me in his strong arms and help me snatch the nuts that were in the lower branches. Those were the best nuts to eat. Besides our stomachs, we filled entire bowls with these nuts. Our hands were left stained with a reddish color and smelled funny after spending the afternoon picking this fruit. A couple of years later, that nut tree had to go because the plague ended its life. It didn’t really matter back then, but now, I realize that I had the best of times with my grandpa, laughing and gathering our nuts. What I wouldn’t give to be a little girl again, back in my grandpa’s arms, picking up fruit in the cool shade of his nut tree.

Words: 409