Image by Photorama from Pixabay
“Hey, Pop-Pop! Can I come to Aunt Melissa's next appointment at the doctor?”
This was eight-year-old Vertran Stepforth, talking to the custodian of his aunt, his grandfather Thomas Stepforth Sr.
Although Mr. Stepforth had moved back to Tinyville during the last year of his son Major Thomas Stepforth Jr.'s military service because he saw that Thomas Stepforth III, his teenage grandson, needed a father's attention, Vertran Stepforth, the younger middle child, was not about to be left out. He was as forward as his billionaire grandfather … he thought of himself as his grandfather's new best friend and guide around Tinyville (not knowing his grandfather had grown up there), and worked his way into the attention he needed.
Mr. Thomas Stepforth Sr. was tickled by Vertran's adaptation to cut through the teenage drama of his elder brother and sister and the toddling cuteness of his younger siblings.
“We all knew from the beginning that the child is my miniature – what a time you must be having with him every day!” he said to his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Gloria Stepforth.
“Oh, Vertran is a glorious handful,” she said.
It takes a certain sensibility – personal pride in seeing yourself reproduced so well in a grandson had to be balanced by helping him avoid your missteps, since you know he will be prone to them.
“No, Vertran. You may not come to the doctor. You ever wonder why your father and I insist that you stay out of big adult conversations?”
“No. They seem so interesting, though.”
“Your brain is like your muscles, Vertran – show me those muscles that your aunt was sculpting yesterday!”
“Sure!”
Grandson rolled up his sleeves and pumped his little biceps, and glowed from happiness as his grandfather said, “Those are some nice, strong biceps you have there, Vertran. Still, would it be fair if I asked you to pick me up?”
“No – maybe next year, though.”
“Your brain is exactly the same way, Vertran.”
Grandfather could just see the gears turning in his grandson's head.
“Oh … I get it … I gotta get my brain strength up to go to the doctor with Auntie!”
“Almost, Vertran,” Grandfather said with a chuckle. “You also need to grow up.”
“Maybe next year, though!”
“Maybe.”
Vertran's grandmother, Mrs. Velma Stepforth, had been watching from the porch, and was smiling as her grandson came running toward her to go back outside – “Hi, Grandma!” – and was gone, his request handled reasonably in his mind even though he didn't get his way.
“I see you were kind to your mirror miniature today,” she purred, and he laughed.