©1997 Laverne Bardy Pollak

I was sitting in a diner, enjoying my solitude and absorbed in thoughts of my father. It was the anniversary of his death and I was missing him.

From the corner of my eye I noticed a magnificent looking couple in a nearby booth. The woman was incredibly beautiful with large, dark, seductive eyes, thick black hair pulled sleekly into a French knot, and an airbrushed complexion. Her movements were fluid. She was poised and composed and appeared to be detached from her surroundings. I watched as she sipped her coffee and I realized that hers were the looks I’d always wanted.

The man was gorgeous. I stared shamelessly and smiled to myself as I allowed my fantasies to ramble. His skin was tanned, and he had rugged features with a strong cleft chin and clear blue eyes. The cut of his expensive three piece suit accentuated his broad chest and shoulders.

He was reading a newspaper. She was drinking coffee. They never spoke.

I heard myself sigh and tried to pull my thoughts back to where they had been before they’d been so pleasantly invaded. It was difficult. I was drawn to the two of them and their robot-like movements -- turning his pages, lifting her cup. No speaking. No smiling. No communicating.

My thoughts were further interrupted when the hostess escorted another couple to a booth diagonally in front of mine. They appeared to be frequent patrons of the diner because they joked familiarly with the waitress, who asked if they wanted their "usual."

The man was in his mid sixties. His hair was steel gray and he wore baggy shorts that slung low on his hips, inviting his belly to hang over. He wore a horizontally striped polo shirt and a red billed cap. Black dress shoes and short black socks accentuated his thin, white, bowed legs.

The woman, about fifty five, had short frizzy brown hair with long gray roots. She wore plaid Bermuda shorts, a sleeveless polka dot over-blouse, white sandals with white anklets, and carried a small white patent leather handbag. She had no forearms. Finger-like appendages hung from her elbows.

I tried hard to ignore her deformity but found myself sneaking peeks at her reflection in the window along side me. Distance made their conversation inaudible to me, but their perpetual dialogue, laughter and playful animation revealed the warmth and the depth of their feelings for each other.

I stalled by reordering cups of tea. I was intrigued by the contrast in the appearance and behavior of the two couples.

The beautiful people slid across their booth seats, stood and prepared to leave. I observed that the woman was tall and willowy. The man appeared to be about 6'5" and, in my humble opinion, was a perfect specimen of manhood. The woman walked in front of the man, past the cashier and out the door. He paid the check and followed. They never spoke or so much as acknowledged each other’s presence. They were perfectly sculpted pieces of cold marble.

I was on my third cup of tea by now and feeling uncomfortable about lingering any longer when the second couple stood and prepared to leave. When he reached the woman’s side of the table, the man leaned over and whispered something into her ear, causing her to visibly blush and giggle. They embraced. I hid behind my menu and softly cried.

They were walking towards the cashier when the man suddenly turned and came back to his booth. He reached across the seat on which he’d been sitting and came up with his red cap.

My eyes were still moist as I managed a smile and said, "Good thing you remembered it now, instead of after you were on the road."

He grinned broadly and walked over to me. "See this here pin?" he asked with great pride as he pointed to a small brass heart stuck in his cap. "My wife gave it to me over 40 years ago and I’m never without it."

I smiled approvingly and he returned to the cashier where he paid his check and walked out with his arm over his woman’s shoulders.

As my eyes followed them to the parking lot, memories of my father trickled back into my mind and I was struck with thoughts of something he had told me when I was a youngster working beside him in his roadside fruit and vegetable stand. "The sweetest fruits are often the ones with blemishes and imperfections."

I was warmed by thoughts of my father’s words and realized that while the beautiful people had caught my eye, it was the second couple who had captured my heart.

Chicken Soup for a Grandma's Soul recently accepted BE A GRANDMOTHER?  WHY WOULD I WANT TO? 

BE A GRANDMOTHER? WHY WOULD I WANT TO?

©1999 Laverne Bardy Pollak

For years I smiled, tolerantly, as friends rambled on about the virtues of their grandchildren. I bit my lower lip and endured endless reports on their intelligence, their creativity, and their reactions to Big Bird and potty training.

I couldn’t relate. I didn’t have grandchildren, and that was fine. My life was full and I didn’t need grandchildren to feel complete. I wasn’t interested in the prospect of changing messy diapers, or comforting cries in the middle of the night. I was past the age of mashing ripe bananas, wiping tiny fingerprints from mirrors and aspirating noses. And, I certainly had better things to do than knit a layette.

Then she came into the world. Shari Lynne. A tiny, velvety pink package, swaddled in a soft white receiving blanket. I could hardly catch my breath. I had given birth to three children of my own, but the wonder of it all seemed magnified and even more extraordinary than it had back then. All I could think was that my baby had had a baby. My son -- my flesh and blood -- had joined with his wife in creating a miracle, and I, in some unobtrusive way, was an important and necessary component.

My heart had never known such fullness. I had a little baby with whom to play and, hopefully, be a positive role model. I wandered, gleefully, through infant and toy departments purchasing baby things because it made me happy. I held innocent people captive and showed them baby pictures.

The depth of my love grew in proportion to her response to me. And before long, I had fallen madly in love with a pint sized human being with her very own mind and personality.

Soon Shari was old enough to join me on outings to pet shops, parks and book stores. I sat her in a high chair in a Chinese restaurant and smiled as she dipped crispy "nu-nuz" into duck sauce and ate wontons with her fingers. We enjoyed ice cream as she held my finger tightly and we walked through malls.

A second grandchild came along; a beautiful boy. And son number two bestowed upon me the privilege of being present during his wife’s agonizing labor, as he wiped her brow and cried. I was further honored by being invited into the hospital nursery just moments after Dylon James’ entrance into the world. I observed the nurse as she gently placed him on his back under warm lights and I watched his tiny arms thrashing helplessly as she performed her necessary, but invasive, procedures on his defenseless little body.

I winced and imagined what he must be feeling after the trauma of being pulled from the warmth and security of the womb and laid on a hard surface; vulnerable and robbed of protection, certainty, and dignity.

Distance prevents me from seeing my grandchildren frequently, but when I do it is often in the role of babysitter, with extended quality hours together.

Recently Dylon stayed with me for several days while his parents took a much deserved vacation. We threw a ball, and pushed toy trucks along the floor. We went down sliding boards, sat on swings, built sand castles and crawled through makeshift tunnels. We made circles on the ceiling with flashlights, in a pitch dark room, and played hide and seek behind the armchair, under the bed, and in the closet. I reread stories so often I have them memorized. I removed my coffee table from my living room to make more space for toys and for play.

After he’d been bathed and tucked into bed, I looked around and saw the clutter and disorder. Being a neat-freak by nature, my

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