CoCo's post #6976...
From the moment Andy came into our lives, my parents, Arthur and Elizabeth Vincent, and I have been unwittingly elevated to an unusual level of awareness; trifles that ordinarily go quite unnoticed came unexpectedly into sharp relief. A mental and spiritual acuity gradually began to develop within the three of us, and its focus was the new arrival. This child, as the song goes, came into the world in the usual way. Nevertheless, had the scenario that unfolded during postwar America been staged within the sacred theatre of Biblical antiquity, this unusual child, like the infant Samuel, would have been dedicated unto the LORD.
Andy was always a happy baby, and to say that he was just another cute little boy, well … more of that later. I mentioned that our level of awareness became keener because of my little brother. An especially memorable period was when elderly Aunt Rose came to stay with us for a spell after her husband, our Uncle Angelo, had died. His death was sudden and had caused my family and Aunt Rose, in particular, much grief. Andy was about six or seven at the time, I believe, and I - the typical, self-absorbed teenager - was in my early teens.
One day, like any other (well, almost), Aunt Rose was staring out our home's one picture window, near catatonia becoming part of her daily routine. The sadness in the air was especially palpable that afternoon; it was raining a melancholy and indifferent sort of drizzle. A lusty, wind-driven downpour would have been preferable under these distressing circumstances. The old darling’s gloom hung about us like a bad suit of clothes. The stillness was shattered, however, when she, totally out of the blue and without warning, burst into tears and sobbed with abandon. Mom ran into the living room to see what had happened. I stood there like a statue. What does a teenager know about comforting the bereaved? I knew some Scripture but hadn’t a clue how to wring any practical comfort from the Good Book.
Mom knelt down by Aunt Rose and talked soothingly to her. After a few moments, the old lady appeared to calm down. Mom must have felt satisfied that Aunt Rose was all right, so she headed back to the kitchen to brew my great aunt a cup of restoring tea. While my mother’s aunt was recovering and I was standing in stunned silence at this most awkward of moments, Andy walked into the room and went directly to Aunt Rose. I had the presence of mind to halt this intrusion of her privacy and made for my little brother’s arm. Before I could grab hold and jerk him away, he abruptly turned his head toward me and gave me a look that could kill at twenty paces. I dropped back, utterly speechless. He turned back toward his elderly great aunt, whose attention he had already captured. Her face was the usual blank, only more so, if you get my drift.
Back into the living room came my mother, smiling warmly in our general direction and carrying a tray crowned with a silver tea service and laden with the home-baked goodies she is locally famous for. As she set down the tray on the coffee table, Andy tugged at the ottoman adjacent to the threadbare, old wingback that Aunt Rose had made her permanent home. Once it was in place before her, the little fellow perched upon it and reached out for her wizened left hand with his right. Young and fresh clasping the ancient and scarcely living.
Do you remember the old saying, “Out of the mouths of babes”? This small proclaimer of juvenile good news subsequently gave it a new meaning, a meaning that changed our lives.
