Nana and Poppa's House

It was Sunday afternoon. Scott was spending it the same way he spent most Sunday afternoons, at his grandparent’s house for dinner after church. Scott was only six years old. He loved dinner at his grandparents largely because of how they spoiled him. No one made better cookies than Nana, no one. Even when he would grow up every time he would smell chocolate chip cookies it in the oven it would remind him of the many Sunday afternoons spent talking with his grandmother about school or what ever other activities he was involved in. After cookies and milk that followed dinner, Scott went into the living room to spend time with Poppa. Scott took out the old photo album from Poppa’s Navy days from under the coffee table, carried it over to Poppa and climbed up to sit in his lap. Sitting there listening to his grandfather’s stories one of his favorite things. His favorite stories were about World War II. Poppa started off as he usual did, “Have I ever told you about…” Scott answered “No, tell me”, even though he was pretty sure he had, it didn’t matter. Slowly Poppa began to talk about far off places, further than Scott had ever imagined the world stretched. The places in the stories seemed near magical. He looked wide eyed at all the photographs. It was difficult to believe the young man in the pictures was really his grandfather. The edges of the pictures were beginning to fray and crinkle. Although the image of the man was younger, the paper it was backed on was old and wrinkled the same as his grandfather’s skin. Poppa spoke softly and turned the pages slowly with his large rough hands. He smelled of Cherry Pipe tobacco. It wasn’t long before Scott began to tire, he yawned, the cookies and milk had taken their toll, then he fell asleep.