Wyatt
Wyatt
by Edmund Siejka
We were in London
Dining in a four-hundred-year-old pub
Dark wood paneling
Beams carved from tree trunks
History and privilege
In medieval England
For us it was a family vacation
And everyone came.
My grandson Wyatt sat next to me
And I turned my attention to him
Letting the other adults talk
Among themselves.
Eyeing the beer in front of me
He asked
Grandpa can I have a sip?
Looking at this round-faced cherub
Sitting next to me
I couldn’t refuse
After all it was oatmeal beer
Easy on the stomach
And fairly bland
Taking a small sip
He simply said
It’s OK Gramps.
His mother saw everything
Reaching over
She tapped me on the shoulder
You shouldn’t be giving him beer
Turning to her son
And you Wyatt, you can’t do everything Grandpa does.
And then the food came
Sausage and Mash
Meat Pie with Mashed Potatoes
Fish and Chips
And dessert, Lemon Tart Pudding.
While we ate
I asked Wyatt
How were things in school?
Fine Gramps. And I have lots of friends.
Leaning towards me
He whispered
And you’re on my list.
List, I asked?
Yeah, a list of people I can always talk to
And who are my best pals
I’m honored Wyatt
I really am I said.
I didn’t say much after that
Afterwards when we got back to the hotel
My wife went to bed
And I stayed up for awhile
Thinking about this and thinking about that
But I couldn’t hold back the pride
When my ten-year-old grandson told me
I was on his list.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2024
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