I pulled up to the front of Matthews Elementary at precisely 12:32pm. This is your typical red brick, government-looking, lackluster,  non-interesting school building. Flat roof. Long, boring outside walls broken up by institutional-metal windows.

I park in the visitors’ circle and make my way to the front doors. There is no sign that says “Office”. Nothing pointing me to the right place where a visitor should enter. There are several double doors on the front of the building and none of them stand out as the place to go inside.

I choose the set of doors in the middle. When I walked up, it hit me. The doors are locked. There’s an intercom button on the side wall. A camera. And the ladies inside have to buzz me through in order to gain entry to the building.

The school entrance is not marked because we live in a world where crazy people do horrible things at random school buildings when no one is watching. And for a moment, I cringe with sadness.

“How can I help you?” the lady says from behind the counter.

“I’m Zelda’s grandpa, and I’m here to check her out of school.”

I went on to explain how I’m supposed to be on the approved list and how I hope the police don’t get involved. I went to Caleb’s school one time, and I thought the very manly policewoman was gonna ask me to leave because I wasn’t on “the list.” I barely survived that one.

“What’s the purpose for checking her out today?”

It was such an official sounding question that I had to be honest.

“It’s her birthday, and I’m taking her out on a date with Grandpa.”

She looked down at her screen. “We’ll just say it’s for personal reasons.”

She scanned my driver’s license, made a phone call, and within a few minutes a very dark-haired little girl who is related to me came through the back office door and into my arms.

“Hey Grandpa.” She is excited.

“Hey Darlin. You ready?”

“Yes sir.” There is more bounce in her than a superball.

I don’t know that I’m good at grandparenting. Beth would have been a lot more intentional about being a part of the grandkids’ lives. I know that Marion is constantly doing stuff for her grandkids. They are on her mind 24/7. I think about my grandkids, but not always in terms of what I could be doing for them or with them. I just think about them.

So, today is the kind of day I need to have more often, and I’m a little scared of it for two reasons. What if I’m no fun? What if she’s bored to death? What if I can’t think of anything to talk with her about? What if she plays her music that I can’t understand? I worry that she’s old enough now that some of the glimmer of spending time with me may have worn off.

The other reason this scares me is a little more selfish. If I take one grandkid out for an afternoon, I wonder if I’m expected to take them all out on some kind of excursion. One on one with Grandpa. I’d love it, but I’m not sure how I would ever pull it off.

I also think that I worry too much. A simple afternoon out with my grandchild. It’s gonna be great.

“First of all,” I tell her after we get into my truck, “we’re going by the car wash and you’re gonna help me clean up my truck.”

I’m not trying to take advantage of child labor just because she’s with me. But my truck is nasty. This needs to be done. She happens to be with me. And I’m short on time the rest of the week. It’s now or not at all.

She claps. “I love the car wash.”

See there.

The first part of the afternoon, we spent our time walking through a couple of junk/thrift/antique malls. And I know what you’re thinking. Why would I drag this poor little girl through aisle after aisle of boring junk. Well, I’ll have you know that it wasn’t my idea. She asked if we could go, so she could spend some of her birthday money on a pair of earrings.

For 11-years-old she already knows that she can find some good stuff at these junk stores, and they work just as good as the brand new ones from the department store. She’s a young lady after my own heart. Bless her.

Birthdays are special, and I’m glad to know that she wanted to spend part of hers with me. We went to the pet store just to pet and not buy. We took in a movie with drinks and popcorn. I’ll be standing on the street corner with a tin cup after that one. Fifty bucks included both the early-bird and senior discounts.

The real blessing of the day came when we drove downtown on Broadway for supper. She’s between that age of being sort of grown up and still being a kid.

Sunday, we had a family gathering at a restaurant for her birthday. A few presents, cards, cupcakes. She was dressed in her Sunday-best. Black dress. A little make-up. High heels. Oh Lordy, the guys in high school are gonna fall like flies and her dad had better be ready for war.

Today, she’s a kiddo. Leggins, tennis shoes, a sloppy sweatshirt, hair blown to the wind. To me, she’s more beautiful now than all dressed up. Maybe it’s because I secretly don’t want her to grow up. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid for the world she’s growing up into.

We parked around the corner off 11th and Broadway. I couldn’t believe how crowded it was for a Monday night.

“Can we walk downtown? I love walking downtown.”

“If we’re going to Your Pie Pizza, walking is about the only way we’re gonna get there.”

She’s fascinated with the lights. She’s asking a thousand ridiculous questions that have no easy answers, and she knows she’s being silly. She’s laughing and tugging on my arm as we cross the street.

I want to tell her how precious life is. Don’t rush things to grow up too soon. Love everyone around you like family. Take nothing for granted. Never let anger, or bitterness, or envy into your heart. Life’s too short not to be full of joy every day. You’re beautiful just the way you are. Keep your heart right, and you’ll have a beauty that clothes and make-up can’t buy. Enjoy every moment. Start every day knowing that God might do something special in your life.

That’s the speech I was rehearsing in my mind. We talked about some of it while she woofed down a cheese pizza. We talked about some of it while walking down the sidewalk with strawberry sherbert ice cream in a cup. We talked about it on the ride home.

I don’t know if I got it right. I don’t know if she’ll remember any of it.

I just know I love her, and I hope she finds great joy in this life.

HBD, Zelda.