The Tradition

Peaking through the clear glass of our front door there is just enough of an angle for me to see our neighbor’s front door.  I watch the boys making a bee-line there, desserts in hand.  Running this requested errand is a delight to them.  They will gladly take homemade dessert over to our neighbor because it means they leave their house with a handful of candies.

I love watching the exchange.  They don’t even know that I’m watching.  But with my nose pressed up against the glass I can see them ringing the doorbell, standing there dutifully, respectfully.  The husband answers.  He is like a grandpa in their eyes and his wife like a grandma.  Always buying whatever fundraiser they are selling.  Always giving them treats.  The boys’ mouths move as they recite the names of the desserts to him just as we rehearsed.  He listens intently with a twinkle in his eyes and takes the desserts in both hands.  Then he leaves the entryway, the door still ajar.  This is the best part.

During the intermission, Blaise jumps up and down off the steps to pass the time.  Hunter sways back and forth patiently waiting, always moving.  Eventually, the doorframe fills again with his figure.  Pairs of cupped, outstretched hands raise up one at a time to receive the fruits of their labor.  I overhear the sweet chorus of “thank you” from each mouth.  The door closes and sprinting feet head back toward our home.  I quickly move away from the door and loosely engage myself in reading the mail.  They run in and show me their spoils.  I look them over briefly before they sock them away to be enjoyed for a later time.  As they run off to other preoccupations I smile as I realize that this is a childhood tradition they will reminisce over in days to come.