Beautiful To Me

Well, the mall nearest to my home now has coffee shop seating in the food court, so that is where I will be from now on, forevermore and always.

That means it now has everything I need for three meals a day, ambiance notwithstanding. It is the perfect place for writing books and grading papers, which is what I am doing all the time, so it’s a win for everyone involved. The end.

Except for this.

I was in my new favorite place, when a young dad sat at the table next to me. He was with his little boy, his copy-and-paste miniature. He was also pushing a stroller, the kind that’s called a travel system, with an infant tucked so deeply into the carseat that all you can see are the little kicking feet.

As they ate, the grandmother arrived, and she had a little girl in tow who matched the little boy and the dad, and every single one of them had the same beautiful milk chocolate skin.

If I had to guess, this was dad’s afternoon – or weekend – with his three kids, and grandma comes along with all of her sensibilities to keep everyone together and be the extra set of everything.

She greeted her son. She greeted her grandson. She got her granddaughter settled next to the brother. Now, with the dad, two children, and a stroller, there was no place for Grandma to sit down.

I would guarantee and bet every amount of money that this woman has been giving the best of everything to her family since the beginning of time.

I can just tell that she takes what is left over in the margins and the fridge, and when nothing is left, she pretends not to need it anyway. No chairs left? She likes to stand, baby. As my own grandma used to say, “It don’t make no-never-mind.”

With everyone seated, she turned to the baby in the stroller.
“Hi, you. Hi, handsome. How’s Nana’s little man?”

I could see him kick his little baby feet at the sound of her voice and the sight of her face. He knows this woman.

She leaned over him, and she sang,

You are so beautiful to me.
You are so beautiful to me.
Can’t you see?

She paused her singing to call him Nana’s little man, to tell him how handsome he is, and then she noticed the empty chair at my table, right next to these people she loves.

She said, “Excuse me, you don’t mind if I take this chair, do you? You don’t mind if I have a seat while I sing to my grandson?”

It was the best assumed close. At this moment in the history of my timeline, there is not a thing in the world I’d rather support, give to, and eavesdrop upon.

“Please,” I said.

She sat down across from me but turned herself back to her baby grandson. She sang –

You are so beautiful to me.
You are so beautiful to me.
Can’t you see?
You’re everything I hoped for,
You’re everything I need.
You are so beautiful to me.

She sang in this low alto, the voice of a matriarch who has been singing in church, calling everybody Sugar, and rocking her grandbabies in the rocking chair until their feet hit the floor.

She said to me, “You can’t see him, but he’s smiling. He knows that’s his song.”

“Yes, ma’am. I just bet he is. I just know he does.”

So, of course I had to write about this.

Because no matter what else happens this week, I wanted to tell you that I got to sit in a corner booth and watch a grandma imprint herself onto her grandson.

She sang her soulful song over him, a song he knows is his.