Letter to My Grandson
by Clara Klein
If I had time to tell you,
I’d tell you about where I grew up and how I played.
About the giant grassy field that used to be a farm.
About the butterflies I caught
About the trees I climbed
About the bugs I teased
About the grass fire …
I’d tell you about the woods at the end of the street
Where secret friends and I would meet.
Where I got scared in the forest dark
Where I banged myself, and my brother found me and took me to get bandaged.
Where I learned how to ice skate on a tiny, frozen pond.
I’d tell you about bike rides forbidden and free
Walked up hills, raced down hills,
My bike parked and then stolen
“What was I doing all the way down there?”
I had to disclose my adventures so far
Across big highways, almost sucked under semi-trucks.
I’d tell you of short, sweet summers in grassy yards
Learning to swim, painting rocks, flying kites,
Running for the ice cream man, listening to my brothers’ and sisters’ sixties music.
Climbing up on the roof to watch July fireworks and screaming Three Dog Night’s
“Celebrate.”
I’d tell you of my mom, who was always at the house,
Listening to music, cooking for nine,
Someone to tell stories to, yell at me to take a nap, and make ballet costumes for me.
And of a laundry chute that dropped from upstairs to down, ending in a cage where I
often landed.
I’d tell you of a brother who left home when I was six,
Another one that made me climb the back of the house on a rope with concrete beneath,
One that was “cool” and made me wish I was
And one that told me that butterflies brought special messages.
Two sisters, too, always fighting with each other and too busy for me
And soon I was an only child.
I’d tell you of winters deep with snow
Making igloos and snow slides from tops to bottoms of hills
All seven sibs riding on one toboggan, with me
Either at the front or back, scared to death to either crash or fall off.
Winter nights that never felt cold, and they had to drag me in when it got late.
Skating on the drained pool and acting out plays of my own.
I’d tell you of happy times at our pool,
Staying in ‘til our fingers were pruny,
Having friends over to swim,
Eating popsicles and Dad’s barbecue,
‘Til we got too old to stick around the house.
I want to share all the fun things with you, so you know what’s important in life.
I want you to be a good boy, do what’s right and be nice to others, especially your family,
whatever that may be.
I want you to use your talents to the fullest, and your charm to be helpful.
I want you to know how big my love is for you — so big I can’t even say.
Know that love lives forever and you must carry it with you always —
Carry it, spread it, use it the best you can, and let it lead you home.
That’s where I’ll be.
You are and always will be my sweetheart.
Forever,
Your Grandma
About the Poet
Clara Klein has been a freelance writer for about 35 years, often writing about Christian spirituality and the everyday world. With her prayers and poetry, she hopes to inspire others to see God in our circumstances.
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