[NB: Bosco and Bumby are two of my very best friends, daughters of a very good friend. These friends did me a wonderful favor...they let me play Granddad.]
The invitation to attend the Scouts’ school’s Grandparents Lunch Day was an honor I would never refuse. As I espied other grandparents in the elementary foyer, I knew I could also qualify for the Great Grandparents Lunch Day, if such is ever offered.
Bumby’s class came down the hall first. She spied me from yards away. Her arms hung straight by her sides. She waved by lifting the left hand at the wrist. Of course, I waved with a cheerleader’s gusto. Her eyes said, “No! No! Be calm! Be normal!” but her arm bent at the elbow. This wave, though half-mast, was whole-hearted.
As we walked side by side to the caf, I peppered her with questions. She responded with the most informative monosyllabs. As we stood just outside the actual serving area, the boy just behind us became ill. I was sorry for him while I was glad it wasn’t Bumby. She was sorry for him while she was glad it interrupted my questioning.
Once facing the food choices, she quickly took a pb&j, corn, graham crackers, and a fruitcicle. I took the tuna-stuffed tomato and some grapes.
At her class’s table she was qui
ck to eat half of her (half) pb&j before going for the fruitcicle. That’s when Bumby ordered me to move down one seat “so you’ll be across from me; I’m going over there” as she got up, grabbed her tray, darted to the other side of the table and started to plop between two boys.
As the one on her right blocked the seat with his leg and grinned, Bumby reminded him authoritatively that he cannot save an empty seat. She lithely slipped between Mateo (seat blocker) and Kade (innocent bysitter). She directed everyone’s conversation—Mateo’s, Kade’s and mine—from her seat of power.
The cafeteria aid summoned kids to line up: boys along one taped floor stripe, girls along the other. Ms. Teacher came and headed the line back to their classroom. Seizing every moment, I went along for the walk. With four around each table and edu-stuff everywhere, Bumby’s classroom has come a long way since my 1956 version!
Then I hustled back to the main lobby and asked the teacher on duty when Bosco’s class was due. She wasn’t’ sure if they’d already come by and suggested I check the cafeteria.
Standing in the exact spot where I’d stood with Bumby before (during her classmate’s upheavals) was 
one very sad-looking Bosco. “No one’s here to have lunch with me” was written all over her face and underlined by arms crossed tightly across her chest. I was relieved and ego-flated when I saw her eyes light up and the smile stretch her face. So, as Bumby’s initial greeting was a wrist-flap, Bosco’s was a full-out hug. (I’ll take both, thank you very much!)
We talked through the line about her morning classes. She took pizza and corn and grapes and a different flavor fruitcicle. I was just watching this round. Something standard about the order of consumption by kids these days: half the pizza slice then the fruitcicle then two forkfuls of corn and none of the grapes.
Bosco sat beside me through lunch. Much of her attention was directed at the friend at an adjacent table. Much of the attention directed at her was from two boys across from us. The one whose grandmother sat beside him was stunned when I called him by name without introduction…until I point out that it was printed on his lunch bag. Bosco gave me a “that was a good one!” nudge on my arm.
I noticed how quiet, even demur, she was as we sat. She offered snippets of information. She remained constantly aware of everything happening 360 around her. Her voice was quiet; her smile was constant. She gives “childhood” the perfect image.
The line-up-to-march-back-to-classroom routine was repeated, perhaps a bit more sedately by fourth graders. Their classroom looked more familiar to me, perhaps because 1958 is two years closer.
Presumptuously, I am looking forward to next year.
