By Lorry Myers
I saw it in slow motion and knew I would never get there in time. I have a heavy swing hanging in the limb of my oldest tree. It’s made from a round, metal hoop covered with thick ropes that create a sturdy platform. The platform swings by four ropes and accommodates all three of my grandchildren at once.
That day, when the last child jumped off that swing, it was pushed out of the way, right on target to swing back and knock down my two-year-old grandson, Roman, who was oblivious to it all.
I knew that swing would do some damage to that little blonde boy, so I rushed to stop it. I just didn’t make it in time.
But, Ivan did.
Ivan is my first grandson, a little six-year-old that looks like he is eight. Ivan is a doting cousin to Roman, and Roman’s three-year-old sister, and since Ivan is the oldest, he is frequently reminded to watch over his younger cousins. Even though Ivan is tall for his age and often acts older than he should, I have to remind others that Ivan is just a little boy.
He is only six.
As the swing swung back, Ivan jumped in front of it, stopping it before Roman was hit in the face. The swing is heavy and knocked Ivan down, but still, he hung on. Ivan saved the day.
Or rather, Ivan saved his cousin.
“Ivan, thank you!” I said as I hugged him and checked for blood. “I wish Pops could have seen you taking care of your cousin. He would be so proud!”
“Oh Queenie!” Ivan said, calling me my “grandma name”. “Pops can see us alright; he can see everything we do from heaven.”
Sigh.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
