My grandpa (A children's story). (Fiction).

If you would accompany me all the way back to the time when I was a child, I would introduce you to the most marvelous person I have ever known -- my Grandpa. some people said that he was in the golden age years of his life. To me, however, he was a very special friend.

During his visits to my home, my Grandpa recounted many fascinating stories about the city of Port of Spain where he lived. That was where some buildings were so tall that they seemed to almost touch the sky. That was where the Botanical Garden -- a sort of jungle in the middle of the city -- and lots of other places were waiting impatiently for me to explore.

Imagine. I was already four years old and in all my life, I had never been to any city. I had not even been to Port of Spain, the city that my Grandpa loved so much.

It was always my Grandpa who came to our little town to visit with my parents and me. I had never seen his city home or enjoyed the beautiful flowers that blossomed in the little garden in his backyard. I had never played in the city parks where he sometimes sat and watched children play. I had never walked along the grand avenues and boulevards which, my Grandpa said, were lined by graceful flowering trees

My Grandpa loved trees passionately. He taught me to love and respect them. I believed that he knew everything about them. "Trees," he told me, "can teach invaluable lessons about life." He shared his tree stories with enthusiasm, much to the delight of many adults and children in his neighborhood.

My Grandpa loved to talk about the interesting people in his neighborhood. Many of his neighbors had come to Port of Spain as immigrants from foreign countries. My Grandpa described them as his friends from far away places. He felt that they were like sturdy transplanted trees that enriched the community in many ways.

Everything I heard about the city seemed so exciting. Naturally, I was eager to go there with my Grandpa and discover for myself all the wonders of the world.

I especially wanted to ride on a tram car. I had never seen one, but my Grandpa said that tram cars were like buses that whizzed up and down the broad busy city streets on iron rails that were embedded right into the surface of the roadway. For me, the strangest thing about tram cars was that they never needed to stop for gasoline like ordinary buses. I could not imagine such a thing

Then, during one of my Grandpa's visits to my home, Mama and Papa informed me that a big boy like me was ready for the journey to the city of Port of Spain. I could not stop jumping for joy.

So, very early one morning, my Grandpa and I set out together on what would be the greatest adventure of my life. One of my little hands fitted comfortably into my Grandpa's big strong right hand. My other little hand held on tightly to the picnic basket that Mama had prepared for us.

My first day in the city of Port of Spain was the happiest and most exciting day I have ever known. My Grandpa, who was a retired school teacher, taught me more during that single day than all the people in the whole wide world put together had ever taught me in the entire four years of my life.

We took a long ride on a tramcar. It was just as Grandpa had said. People were getting on or getting off the fascinating vehicle at every stop; but Grandpa and I travelled all the way to the very end of the line. The trip was fantastic; and we had so much fun!

I can remember quite clearly how the tram car driver got out at the terminus and rearranged the vehicle to travel in the opposite direction. My eyes followed his every action as he skillfully removed the big cable that connected the tramcar's electric motor to overhead power lines. Then he reconnected that same cable to the other end of the tramcar.

Like magic, what had been the back of the tramcar became the front. Amazing!

I had never seen anything like that before; but my Grandpa explained everything to me. It was all so exciting. I could hardly keep still; but my Grandpa did not mind one little bit.

Now, my Grandpa walked with the aid of a cane that he called his extra limb, and for which he was always finding new uses. I suspected that he was reading my mind when, in an extremely polite manner, he tapped with his cane on the floor of the tram car in order to get the driver's attention. Then he spoke in a soft, but authoritative voice.

"Excuse me. My grandchild here is almost five years old. Such a bright young person could certainly help turn over the backs of the seats so that they would face forward for the return trip. Do you agree?"

The driver looked at my Grandpa and nodded his head. Then he turned his attention from my Grandpa to me. He fixed his gaze on me for what seemed a long time. At last, he smiled.

"Of course, Sir. Your grandchild looks really bright to me; and I'll surely be most grateful for some help." I never felt so proud of myself in all my life. I was absolutely proud of my Grandpa, too.

Later, at the Botanical Garden, my Grandpa and I sat side by side on the velvety green grass in the shade of a giant immortelle tree. While we rested from our thrilling adventures, we munched the tasty snacks that Mama had prepared, and we chatted about the wonderful time we were having. We also exchanged ideas about city life, country life, and all sorts of other important matters-best of all, my Grandpa let me drink my Coca-Cola directly from the bottle without a glass or cup or even a straw. My Grandpa was so intelligent!

I heard his deep, rich voice. "My child, if you don't mind having a little bit of your Coke overflow onto the ground, why don't you shake the bottle so that it will bubble over?"

I've always wondered, "How did he know that that was exactly what I had wanted to do?"

Anyway, I shall always remember how we laughed and laughed when the bubbly drink spurted wildly out of the bottle and splashed all over my face, my shirt, my pants, my shoes and even over my Grandpa. What a wonderful day we were having together!

As he dried us both off with one of his extra-large handkerchiefs, my Grandpa laughingly confided that he was over ninety years of age. I didn't quite know what that meant, or exactly how old he really was; but I knew for sure that my Grandpa was not an old man.

My Grandpa was smiling when he remarked that his back was a bit curved like a tree that had survived numerous storms. I smiled, too, because I was trying to picture in my mind a tree as elegant as my Grandpa with his dark brown hat, neat suit, polished black shoes and, of course, his handy cane with the curved handle in the shape of a duck's head.

When we continued our tour of the Botanical Garden, my Grandpa told me the names of the trees and also added an informative tidbit about each one. He seemed to have a special passion for the older trees; but he loved the young ones, too.

I remember well when he paused and leaned against a tree that seemed particularly old. As he gently stroked its bark, I imitated his every move, naturally. He placed one of his hands on my shoulder and, speaking cheerfully, shared his feelings with me.

"My child, just like this fine tree, you will grow and become strong in many ways. This tree continues to grow in all sorts of weather. As you can see, it still has great dignity and beauty. Keep on standing tall and reaching high, my child. Be brave, be good. Some day you, too, will be strong enough to cope with whatever challenges life may bring."

Then he gave me a big hug.

I was laughing happily as I returned my Grandpa's hug. I could not guess that we would never again tour the city of Port of Spain together, marveling at the unbelievable variety of sights and sounds.

How was I to know that My Grandpa and I would never again stroll along the winding pathways and grassy trails of the Botanical Garden or spend another day picnicking there, or be enchanted by splendid views of the city as we rolled along on a magic tram car?

All too soon it was time to return home to my small town. My visit to the city had ended. My Grandpa and I shook hands like grownups. Then we hugged each other again warmly as we exchanged greetings of "Until next time."

I fully expected to continue enjoying my Grandpa's pleasant company for the rest of my life. I believed that he would always be there to share extraordinary wonderful times with me.

Back home, I talked incessantly about the great day I had spent with my Grandpa in the city. Mama and Papa listened patiently to my repetitive accounts.

Meanwhile, I looked forward to my Grandpa's every visit. And although those visits became shorter and less frequent, I never really noticed that he was beginning to slow down. I was always dreaming of more wonderful visits to Port of Spain with him.

"Mama," I used to say, "Do you think that my Grandpa could take me with him to Port of Spain the next time he comes to visit us?"

Mama tried to explain that her father was a very old man; but I remained somewhat confused. Her explanations seemed incredible, incomprehensible.

My Grandpa -- an old man? I had never thought of him as being older than my mother or anyone else for that matter. To me, he was just smarter and more fun. He was so wise, he knew so much more than I did, and he was still growing -- wiser and more loving and more caring every day.

But, one unforgettable evening, Mama told me that her father, my Grandpa, would never again entertain me in his little house in Port of Spain.

He would never again sit beside me to patiently explain the writing on the little plaque that was beside every tree in the Botanical Garden.

Mama whispered, "My child, he's gone to his new home in heaven."

Mama cried a lot. My eyes drowned in tears.

Perhaps, I should not have been so shocked. My Grandpa used to tell me that one day he would leave for his heavenly home. He used to tell me that whatever happened, I must always be brave and good.

In spite of everything, for a long time, I was discouraged, desolate, devastated. And then I remembered a tree story that my Grandpa had told me on that delightful day in the city. That story was about a certain tree that, just like my Grandpa, lived a very long life. Let me share that story with you.

"One day, shortly after a major storm, a curious young woman who was also knowledgeable about trees, was strolling near a wooded area. She came upon a huge tree that had been blown down by the storm. After examining the fallen tree, she calculated that it had to be at least 200 years old. What impressed her most, however, was what she found out when she stripped away a segment of the tree's bark. It became quite clear that the venerable tree had been still growing even on the very day that it fell." Just like my Grandpa!

Many years have passed since my Grandpa left for his heavenly home. During those years, I too have faced some of life's storms. My Grandpa's words have been a rich heritage to me and have helped me to cope with difficult situations.

And thanks to my Grandpa, I have learned something else of great significance. I have learned to strip away some of the bark or labels that stereotype people as old or over the hill or handicapped.

Beneath the bark, I usually find the real person who is still growing. I discover someone who is still capable of giving and receiving love and nurturing, until she or he is blown over by the final storm that eventually overtakes every one of us. When I look at that person with the earnest expectant eyes of a four year old child, I always find somebody very special -- like my Grandpa.