We took Alizabeth and Haleigh to visit their Great Grandpa and Grandma Lash recently. My apprehension about the visit was put to rest the moment the girls crossed over the front door threshold. The fondness of human company, a trait shared by both the young visitors and the old hosts quickly evaporated any possibility for the social awkwardness that is often initiated on such rare occasions. The girls became two little kittens exploring their new environment; touching things that were new to them, marking the big screen TV with their paw prints – reluctant to be held for more than a few seconds lest their quest be interrupted.
Photographs were taken by Great Grandpa, candy was offered by Great Grandma, Chico the black pug was released from his back room incarceration as a result of Ali’s pleas. In a short time, it appeared that the “greats” had mutually charmed one another. Chico jittered, jumped, sniffed, and slurped – much to the delight of the girls.
Anyone who has visited the Lash house on Allison Avenue knows that some form of music, be it vocal, instrumental, or both may very well be invoked if the visit lasts long enough. This evening would be no exception.
Great Grandpa leaned forward in his chair, his voice a coarse leftover from a nasty cold, and asked Alizabeth, “Would you like to hear me play the harmonica?”
“Yes!” replied Ali as she clutched one of Chico’s favorite stuffed toys, not seeming to notice the wattle hanging beneath her great grandpa’s chin. I wondered to myself if she knew what a harmonica was.
Slowly he lifted himself out of his chair and shuffle-toddled across the room, in much the same manner as one-year-old Haleigh who has just started walking. He opened the door of the hall closet, rummaged through the pockets of one of the jackets hanging inside, and soon came out with an old Marine Band harmonica. He returned to his chair, sat down, slapped the harmonica on his thigh a few times, and leaned forward once again. “What would you like to hear me play Ali?”
“I don’t know,” she replied as she tried to see what he was holding, not sure about what was about to happen.
Great Grandpa put the old Marine Band harmonica to his lips, blew out a few croaky notes as if to clear out the cobwebs, and was soon playing “You are my Sunshine”. As he played, Alizabeth stood next to his hassock still clutching Chico’s toy, her robin egg blue eyes steadfastly watched. She appeared to be enraptured. It was a Heartland moment – no fiddle, no poofing brown jug, no thimble on a washboard – just one old man playing an old harmonica for a little girl.
When he finished, Alizabeth clapped. She stood next to the hassock and applauded and asked for more.
Back to the lips went the harmonica. Out came a medley of familiar melodies; “This Little Light of Mine”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, “Mary had a Little Lamb”, “Bah-bah Black Sheep”… interrupted with vocals from a voice as raspy as the missing thimble and washboard. He played and sang as long as his wind lasted, and when he stopped Alizabeth stood and clapped.
We all clapped.
Grampy Lash 