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Great Expectations (Vol. 4, No. 23)

The list is growing. 

Landrye, our 2 year-old granddaughter, has entered that wonderful era of life.  You know the one – the one where she discovers that she has some free will.  Granted, the free-choice-thing is a little limited for a girl her age.  But she cherishes the ability to impose her thinking and opinion wherever she can.

At our house, a majority of her range of election is in regard to what she eats.  More particularly, what she doesn’t eat.  Her preferences vary from time to time.  The staples of bread, cheese, chicken nuggets, and the peanut butter and honey sandwiches seem to survive her whims.

Nancy, as a dutiful grandmother, faithfully attempts to introduce new things into the menu.  Several months ago, I sat in silent admiration as Nancy mounted a campaign to introduce Landrye to pears.  I’m sure that she had pears in the past, but they were probably of the smashed and bottled variety.  When Nancy asked Landrye if she would like some pears, Landrye authoritatively asserted, “No, I don’t like pears.”

Nancy backed down for the moment.  A few bites later and after some other small talk, Nancy renewed the offer.

“No, Meemie, I don’t like pears.” 

Nancy smiled and the game continued.  After the third round, I had grown somewhat tired of the proceedings and decided to insert my highly developed abilities of persuasion.

“So, you don’t like pears?” I queried.

Landrye turned her gaze on me and answered, “No, Grampa.  I don’t like pears.”

“Have you ever tried pears?” I pressed.

She glanced back to Nancy and then returned her gaze to me.  “No, Grampa.  But I know I won’t like them.”

I drew in a quick breath and prepared to launch my next witty assault.  Nancy stepped in.  “Will you try them some day?”

Landrye fiddled with her fork.  “Someday I will like them . . . when I am bigger.”

“So,” I said, “someday when you’re bigger, do you want me to bring you some pears?”

“Yes, Grampa.  Someday when I’m bigger, you may bring me two pears.”

Two pears were the first items on Landrye’s list.

On several occasions since that night, similar discussions about other vegetables and fruits have arisen.  Despite Nancy’s cajoling, the breadth of Landrye’s menu of acceptable foods hasn’t grown much.  But the list has.

“When I’m bigger, Grampa will bring them to me.”

Last week, when I was passing by the kitchen, I heard Landrye’s announcement that another item was on the list.  Grampa would be bringing yet one more item.

My thoughts turned to Landrye and her list while I was on business in Alabama.  I suddenly realized that I had made promises to Landrye.  Promises to bring two pears and a bunch of other things.  Other things that I can’t remember.  I’ve been in a panic to recall those items.  I’m hoping that Nancy has made a list.  Regardless, I’ll be making one of my own as soon as I reach home tonight.

It’s a silly thing.  But I can’t bear the thought of showing up someday, when Landrye is bigger, without those things I promised her.  She has expectations.  While the world sees them as little, her expectations are great. 

I have already imagined the day when I arrive with a large sack of promised things.  With Landrye beside me, I will lift each promise out of the sack and announce its arrival.  And Landrye will check each one off of her list.

She’ll care little for the pears.  She may not even eat them.  But she will never forget that I brought them – just like I said I would.  Along with all of those other things I promised to bring.

I’ve got other sacks of promises sitting around.  Some were never filled.  Others were packed but never delivered.  Some sacks were never spread open and I don’t even know whose they are.   Seems I have a lot of lists to make.  I grow weary just thinking about it.

Maybe Landrye will help me fill the sacks, deliver them and check those promises off the list.  I suppose that’s one of my great expectations.

Shine On!

copyright 2004 Joe L. Cope