To the editor:

I recently was driving around when a soft voice told me to drive down Bakers Road. As I did, I noticed a familiar site — a lake I have forgotten about, so long ago. I decided to investigate and found what used to be a small landing where stood an oak tree.

This small island seemed untouched by the elements of time as if someone was watching over it. As I stood there and looked over the lake, I then heard a voice, “Hi, Grandchild.”

Now, I did recognize that voice, but couldn’t place it. Over come by curiosity, I later drove back and once again, “Glad you’re back. Where’s the poles?” I then understood.

You see, when I was just a youngster, many years ago of course, “Grandpa and I” would go fishing once a week at that spot. He would tell me so many stories. I remember asking Grandma if she would like to come, and she would cuddle my face with her hands and with a smile say, “Enjoy your day with Grandpa, they are few.” Grandma would always have a pitcher of milk and fresh baked cookies, every time.

One day I walked over to Grandpa’s to spend the day, when Grandma said Grandpa was ill and couldn’t go fishing. A few days later, Grandpa died.

Those memories of Grandpa and I at that lake, flooded my mind daily, as it does today. I was searching for a pump recently when I found two cane poles. Didn’t think too much about it until I saw some writing which read, Grandpa and I. I decided to take those poles and return to the lake.

After a minute or two, once again, I heard that voice, “Glad you brought the poles, Tadpole.” Yes, Grandpa.

That place shaded by the old oak tree was made special for “Grandpa and I.”

I still fish that spot today with both poles. Sadly enough, I never heard Grandpa’s voice again, but he’s still there. I now understand it wasn’t about fishing, but about Grandpa and I being there together, and now we are in spirit.

Every time I’m in trouble or have a problem, I have a place to go, and Grandpa is there to make things better. His spirit lives within myself and that spot by the lake and the oak tree.

John Flaute

Houston