The shelves at my home office hold some personally meaningful trophies and awards that have come my way through the years, yet none of them matter much to my two-year-old granddaughter.
Sumner loves my office. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she heads for the black couch across from my desk where her four favorite friends reside. Mickey Mouse sits on the left, his white-gloved hand on the armrest, a never-ending smile on his face. Dumbo is next, ears everywhere, tiny yellow hat tilted to one side. There is space in the middle for Sumner and me to sit, close to Donald Duck, looking as wound up as ever, ready for the chaos to come. And finally, a giant Pooh sits on the right, arms resting on his protruding belly, his round face a reflection of unyielding loyalty and love. These are the trophies Sumner comes for, and it makes me smile.
When she stays overnight, the first order of business in the morning is to come and gather the entire clan of stuffed friends and drag them into the living room, babbling busily as she goes. In the evening when she goes to bed, they all find their way back to the couch in my office, only to be retrieved ritualistically the next day. This is the fate of the furry foursome each time she visits, and I can’t look at the cast of characters across from my desk without thinking of her. There is nothing like a child to put life’s treasures into perspective.
Maybe someday she’ll ask me about the trophies and awards on the shelf. Maybe she won’t. For now, she’s focused on the four friends in Papa’s office. Hearing her bare feet coming down the hall reminds me of my own amazing daughters when they were little. The innocence of childhood sets the world back in balance for a while, making me grateful for Mickey, Dumbo, Donald, and Pooh.
