Out on the deck there rose such a clatter, I leapt from my chair to check out the matter. A wounding, surely; perhaps with blood.
Our four grandbeans, ages 2 to 8, had just left our dinner table and migrated to the back deck to play until dessert. Their parents and the Preacher and I had settled in for a morsel of coveted adult conversation.
Said our daughter calmly (she so accustomed to chaos and havoc), "Kendall, could you go see what's the matter with Sherah?"
"I'll go," I said, rushing around the corner and down the hall. Through the patio doors I spotted our youngest grandbean, sitting in a deck chair howling. Her brother knelt in front of her, patting her face. Planting kisses on her cheek. "WHAT is going on?" I demanded.
Three heads swiveled in my direction. They all answered at once. "Benjamin shot Sherah," chorused the two older girls. "I shot Sherah," said the kneeling boy, stricken. "Beshamim shot me!" she concurred through her tears.
Beside him lay the small cross-bow we'd purchased over two decades ago for his beloved Uncle Tony. He loves shooting the suction cup darts, but he knows the rules: no shooting at any person, or anywhere near any person.
I knelt in front of the wailing two-year old, pried her brother's fretting hands from her face. "Let Nana see."
Not even a tiny red mark. I scooped her into my lap for a cuddle. The older girls, having filed their report, resumed playing. The wide-eyed perpetrator plunked into a chair across from me and his now barely sniffling sibling.
Suddenly my grandson's words poured like water through a breach. "Nana, I deserve to be disciplined. I think I should have a time out. I don't think I should EVER use that bow if anyone else is around. I think I should NEVER use it again." He paused for breath before passing the harshest judgment of all. "I think I should have no dessert."
Dilly bars, yet.
"Did you MEAN to shoot your sister?"
His eyes met mine. No flinching. "I think so." He seemed surprised at his own answer. "Nana, I feel so guilty." Long pause. "Nana.WHAT IS GUILTY?"
"Feeling guilty, honey, means knowing you did something wrong, and feeling very bad that you did it."
"Oh."
We talked about consequences. He listened very closely and made a heartfelt apology to his sister, who had already moved on to sampling tiny green tomatoes, ejecting them and pronouncing, "YECK!"
I wrapped my arms around him. "Honey, I still love you."
"Thank you, Nana," he said. Fervent. Remorseful.
He served his self-sentence and we all moved on.
"I tell you the truth," said Jesus, "Unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven."
I tell you the truth,
