This is the wall, my grandfather’swall. On it are the names of thosekilled in war, long ago.
“Where is Grandpa’s name?” I ask.
“We have to find it,” Dad says.
He and I have come a long way for this andwe walk slowly, searching.
The wall is black and shiny as amirror. In it I can see Dad and me.
I can see the bare trees behind us and thedark, flying clouds.
A man is in a wheelchair staresat the names. He doesn’t have legs.
I’m looking, and he sees melooking and smiles.
“Hi, son.”
“Hi.”
His hat is soft, squashed andgreen and there are medals on it. Hispant legs are folded back and his shirt is a soldier’s shirt.
A woman old as my grandma ishugging a man, old as my grandpa would be. They are both crying.
“Sh,” he whispers. “Sh!”
Flowers and other things havebeen laid against the wall. There arelittle flags, an old teddy bear, and letters, weighted with stones so theywon’t blow away. Someone has left a rosewith a droopy head.
“Have you found Grandpa yet?” Iask.
“No,” Dad says. “There are so many names. Theyare listed under the years when they were killed. I’ve found 1967.”
That’s when my grandpa died.
Dad runs his fingers along therows of print and I do, too. The lettersmarch side by side, like rows of soldiers. They’re nice and even. It’sbetter printing than I can do. The wallis war.
Dad is searching and searching.
“Albert A. Jensen, CharlesBronoski, George Munoz,” he mutters.
His fingers stop moving. “Here he is.”
“My grandpa?” I ask.
Dad nods. “Your grandpa.” His voice blurs. “My dad. He was just my age when he was killed.”
Dad’s rubbing the name, rubbingand rubbing as if he wants to wipe it away. Maybe he just wants to remember the way it feels.
He lifts me so I can touch it,too.
We’ve brought paper. Dad puts it over the letters and rubs on itwith a pencil so the paper goes dark, and the letters show up white.
“You’ve got parts of otherguys’ names on there, too.” I tell him.
Dad looks at the paper. “Your grandpa won’t mind.”
“They were probably friends ofhis anyway,” I say.
Dad nods. “Maybe so.”
A man and a boy walk past.
“Can we go to the river now,Grandpa?” the boy asks.
“Yes.” The man takes the boy’shand. “but button your jacket. It’s cold.”
My dad stands verystill with his head bent.
A bunch of big girls inschool uniforms come down the path. Their teacher is with them. Theyare all carrying more of those little flags.
“Is this wall for thedead soldiers, Miss Gerber?” one of them asks in a loud voice.
“The names are thenames of the dead. But the wall is forall of us,” the teacher says.
They make a lot of noise andask a lot of questions and all the time Dad just stands there with his headbowed, and I stand beside him.
The girls stick their flags inthe dirt in front of the wall and leave.
Then it’s quiet again.
Dad folds the paper that hasGrandpa\'s name on it and puts it in hiswallet. He slides out a picture of me,one of the yucky ones they took in school. Mom made me wear a tie.
Dad puts the picture on thegrass below Grandpa’s name.
It blows away.
I get it and put it back andpile some little stones on top.
My face smiles up at me fromunder the stones.
“Grandpa won’t know who Iam,” I tell Dad.
“I think he will,” Dad says.
I move closer to him. “it’s sad here.”
He puts his hand on myshoulder. “I know. But it’s a place of honor. I’m proud that your grandfather’s name is onthis wall.”
“I am, too.”
I am.
But I’d rather have my grandpahere, taking me to the river, telling me to button my jacket because it’s cold.
He lived in such poverty that again andagain he went to bed hungry.
One night, he had a dream.
In his dream, a voice told him to go to thecapital city and look for a treasure under the bridge by the Royal Palace.
\"It is only a dream,\" he thoughtwhen he woke up, and he paid no attention to it.
The dream came back a second time.
And Isaac still paid no attention to it.
When the dream came back a third time, heSaid,
\"Maybe it\'s true,\" and so he setout on his journey.
Now and then, someone gave him a ride, butmost of the way he walked.
He walked through forests.
He crossed over mountains.
Finally he reached the capital city.
But when he came to the bridge by the RoyalPalace, he found that it was guarded day and night.
He did not dare to search for the treasure.
Yet he returned to the bridge every morningand wandered around it until dark.
One day, the captain of the guards askedhim,
\"Why are you here?\"
Isaac told him the dream. The captainlaughed.
\"You poor fellow,\" he said,\"what a pity you wore your shoes out for a dream! Listen, if I believed adream I once had, I would go right now to the city you came from, and I\\\'d lookfor a treasure under the stove in the house of a fellow named Isaac.\" Andhe laughed again.
Isaac bowed to the captain and started onhis long way home.
He crossed over mountains.
He walked through forests.
Now and then, someone gave him a ride, butmost of the way he walked.
At last, he reached his own town.
When he got home, he dug under his stove,and there he found the treasure.
In thanksgiving, he built a house of prayer,and in one of its corners he put an inscription: Sometimes one must travel farto discover what is near.
Isaac sent the captain of the guards a pricelessruby.
And for the rest of his days he lived incontentment and he never was poor again.
It was time to take Victoria, our pedigreeLabrador, and Charles, our son, for a walk.
When we arrived at the park, I let Victoriaoff her lead. Immediately some scruffy mongrel appeared and started botheringher. I shooed it off, but the horrible thing chased her all over the park.
I ordered it to go away, but it took nonotice of me whatsoever. \"Sit,\" I said to Charles. \"Here.\"
I was just planning what we should have toeat that evening when I saw Charles had disappeared. Oh dear! Where had he gone?
You get some frightful types in the parkthese days! I called his name for what seemed like an age.
Then I saw him talking to a veryrough-looking child. \"Charles, come here. At once!\" I said. \"And come here please,Victoria.\"
We walked home in silence.
SecondVoice
I needed to get out of the house, so me andSmudge took the dog to the park.
He loves it there, I wish I had half the energyhe\'s got.
I settled on a bench and looked through thepaper for a job. I know it\'s a waste of time really, but you\'ve got to have abit of hope, haven\'t you?
Then it was time to go. Smudge cheered meup. She chatted happily to me all the way home.
ThirdVoice
I was at home on my own again.It\'s soboring. Then Mummy said that it was time for our walk.
There was a very friendly dog in the parkand Victoria was having a great time. I wished I was.
\"D\'you wanna come on the slide?\"
a voice asked. It was a girl, unfortunately,but I went anyway. She was brilliant on the slide, she went really fast. I wasamazed.
The two dogs raced round like old friends.
The girl took off her coat and swung on theclimbing frame, so I did the same.
I\'m good at climbing trees,
so I showed her how to do it.
She told me her name was Smudge – a funnyname, I know,
But she\'s quite nice. Then Mummy caught ustalking together and I had to go home.
Maybe Smudge will be there next time?
FourthVoice
Dad had been really fed up, so I waspleased when he said we could take Albert to the park.
Albert’s always in such a hurry to be letoff his lead. He went straight up to this lovely dog and sniffed its bum (healways does that). Of course, the other dog didn’t mind, but tis owner wasreally angry, the silly twit.
I got talking to this boy. I thought he wasa bit of a wimp at first, but he’s okay. We played on the see-saw and he didn’tsay much, but later on he was a bit more friendly.
We both burst out laughing when we sawAlbert having a swim.
Then we all played on the bandstand, and Ifelt really, really happy.
Charlie picked a flower and gave it to me.
Then his mum called him and he had to go.He looked sad.
When I got home I put the fflower in somewater, and made Dad a nice cup of tea.
Francisco stood in the parking lot with hisgrandfather and the other men. It was the first time he\'d been there.
A truck cruised along, slowed.
The driver held up three fingers.\"Bricklaying, I need three men,\" he caIJed.
Five men jumped in the back.
\"Only three,\" the driver said,and two had to get out
The workers left in the parking lotgrumbled and shuffled around.
Francisco\'s grandfather shivered.\"Hace Frio,\" he said.
\"It is cold because it is still early.It will be hot later, you will see,\" Francisco said in Spanish
\"Why did you bring a kid?\" one ofthe men asked. \"No one will hire you with a kid. He belongs inschool.\"
\"It\'s Saturday,” Francisco said.\"My abuelo, my grandfather, does not speak English yet. He came toCalifornia only two days ago to live with my mother and me.\"
Francisco swallowed. \"We have beenalone ----since my father died. I am going to help my abuelo get work.
\"He took his grandfather\'s cold, roughhand and smiled up at him. Abuelo was tall and skinny as an old tree. AlreadyFrancisco loved him. When there was money to spare they\'d get him a jacket likeFrancisco\'s with sleeves long enough to cover his hands. And an L.A. Lakers caplike Francisco\'s, too.
A van was coming. BENJIMIN’S GARDENING wasprinted on the side.
Francisco let go of his grandfather\'s hand.He darted through the swarm of men and was right in front of the van when itstopped.
\"One man,\" the driver said.\"For gardening.\" He was young, with a thick, black mustache. And hewas wearing an L.A. Lakers cap, like Francisco\'s. Maybe cleaner. It must be anomen, Francisco thought.
\"Take us, Mr. Benjamin. Us.\"Francisco pointed back at his grandfather. He tilted his own cap over his eyes.\"Look! We love the Lakers, too. And my grand-father is a fine gardener,though he doesn\'t know English yet. The gardens are the same, right? Mexicanand American?\"
Francisco waved urgently for hisgrandfather to come. \"Also, you will get two for one,\" he said.\"I don\'t charge for my work.
The man grinned. \"OK. I\'m convinced.But I\'m not Mr. Benjamin. Call me Ben.\"
He motioned to Francisco. \"You andyour grandfather jump in back. Sixty dollars for the day.\"
Francisco nodded. His breath was comingfast. That much for a day\'s work? Mama would be so happy. Her job didn\'t paymuch. There\'d be extra food tonight, maybe chorizos.
He pulled open the back door, threw in thebag of lunch Mama had packed, and hurried his grandfather into the van ahead ofhim.
A big, tough guy tried to get in, too.Francisco pushed him back. He was tough. He was a worker.
\"It is gardening,\" he told Abueloas the van pulled away.
\"But I do not know gardening. I am acarpenter. I have always lived in the city.”
“It is easy.\" Francisco waved throughthe window at the passing cars. \"Flowers, roses, things like that.\"He raised his cap to a lady in a car. \"Senora,\" he said politely,though she couldn\'t hear.
The van turned off the freeway onto awinding road and stopped. A sloping bank led up to the backyards of new houses.Some were not yet finished. Workers climbed high on rooftops and there was thegood smell of tar.
The high bank was dotted with pretty whiteflowers and overgrown with coarse green spikes. Six big black trash cans waitedbelow.
They all got out of the van but Ben leftthe motor running.
\"I need you to weed this bank,\" hetold Abuelo. “Be sure to get the roots.“ He pointed to thecans. “Dump them here.\"
\"Good. Fine.\" It was Franciscowho answered.
\"I have another job to go to,\"Ben said. \"I\'ll pick you up at three. It will be hot. Your grandfatherwill need a hat.\" He took a straw one from the van.
\"Gracias,\" Abuelo said.
\"See you guys then. Work hard. Have anice day.\"
\"What did he say?\" Abuelo askedas the van drove off.
\"He said to have a nice day. It iswhat everyone says up here.\"
\"Your English is very good, mygrandson,\" Abuelo said.
Francisco nodded and smiled. He climbed thebank and hung his jacket on a railing. \"Now,\" he said. I will showyou.\" He pulled up one of the spiky clumps and shook the dirt from itsroots. \"These are weeds. Do not touch the flowers.\"
His grandfather smiled. \"Bueno.\"Francisco could see his strong white teeth all the way to the back.
They worked through the morning.
A little poodle barked at them through therailings above. \"Yap, yap, yap.\"
An orange cat prowled the bank.
There was a pool in one of the newbackyards. Francisco heard splashing and voices. The water sounds made himhotter. His shoulders and arms hurt. He thought about how proud Mama would betonight.
\"Sixty dollars?\" she\'d say, andshe\'d hug Francisco and Abuelo. \"It is. a fortune.\"
At lunchtime he and AbueJo ate thetortillas and tomatoes and drank the bottle of water she had packed.
In another hour they were finished.
The bank looked so nice with just the browndirt and the pretty flowers.
\"Muy bonito,\"Abuelo said.
And Francisco said, \"Yes,beautiful!\"
He and his grandfather shook hands.
Francisco thought he had never felt sogood. He\'d helped his grandfather and he had worked himself.
They sat on the curb to wait for the van,and when it came they stood and brushed the loose dirt from their clothes.
Ben got out and stared up at the bank.\"Holy Toledo!\" he said.
\"You didn\'t think we could do such agood job?\" Francisco wanted to laugh, Ben seemed so shocked.
Francisco gave a little jump and pretendedto slam dunk a ball. \"Like the Lakers. We work hard.\"
\"I can\'t believe it!\" Benwhispered. \"You… you took out all the plants and left the weeds.\"
Francisco stepped closer to Abuelo.\"But the flowers . . .\"he began,
Ben pointed. \"Those flowers arechickweed .Chickweed! You took out my young ice plants.\" He yanked off hisLakers cap and slammed it against the van.
\"What js it? Did we do somethingwrong?” Abuelo whispered in Spanish to Francisco.
Ben\'s mustache quivered with anger. \"Ithought you said your grandfather was a fine gardener. He doesn\'t even know achickweed?\"
Abuelo looked from one of them to theother. \"Tell me what is happening, Francisco,\" he said.
\"We left the weeds. We took out theplants,\" Francisco said softly in Spanish. It was hard to look at hisgrand-father as he spoke.
\"He thought we knew aboutgardening,\" Abuelo said. His Spanish was fast and angry. \"You lied tohim. Isn\'t that so?\"
\"We needed a day\'s work. . . .\"
\"We do not lie for work.\"
Now there was more sadness than anger inAbuelo\'s voice. \"Ah, my grandson.\" He put a hand on Francisco\'sshoulder. \"Ask him what we can do. Tell him we will come back tomorrow, ifhe agrees. We will pull out the weeds and put the good plants back.\"
Francisco felt his heart go weak. \"But. . . but Abuelo, that will be twice the work. And tomorrow is Sunday. There isa Lakers game on TV. And there is also church.\" He hoped the word churchwould per-haps change his grandfather\'s thinking.
\"We will miss them both, then,\"his grandfather said. \"It is the price of the lie. Tell the gentleman whatI said and ask him if the plants will live.
\"Ben said they would. \"The rootsare still there. If they\'re replanted early, they\'II be all right.\"
He rubbed his eyes. \"This is partly myfault. I should have stayed to get you started. But tell your grandfather lappreciate his offer and I\'II bring you back in the morning.
\"The three of them got in the van.
Francisco sat by the window in huddledsilence. He didn\'t wave to passing cars. He didn\'t raise his cap. He\'d helpedhis grandfather find work. But in the end the lie had spoiled the day. Histhroat burned with tears.
The parking lot was empty. The trash canoverflowed with used paper cups and sandwich wrappings.
Ben let them out.
\"Look,\" he said. \"If youneed money I’ll give you half now.\" He began to pull his wallet from hispocket but Abuelo held up his hand.
\"Tell him we take the pay tomorrow,when we finish.\"
Francisco\'s grandfather and Ben looked ateach other and words seemed to pass between them, though there were no words.Ben slid his wallet back into his pocket.
Francisco sighed. The lie had taken the chorizos,too.
\"Tomorrow then. Six A.M.,\" Bensaid. \"And tell your grandfather I can always use a good man---for morethan just one day s work.\"
Francisco gave a hop of excitement. Morethan just a day s work!
Ben was still speaking. \"The importantthings your grandfather knows already. And I can teach him gardening.\"
Francisco nodded. He understood. He wouldtell his grandfather, and he would tell him something else. He, Francisco, hadbegun to learn the important things, too.
Francisco took his grandfather\'s cold, roughhand in his. \"Let\'s go home, Abuelo,\" he said.
To: Stefanie Rebecca Koren and childreneverywhere who love to be loved.
Chester Raccoon stood at the edge of theforest and cried.
\\\" I don\\\'t want to go to school,\\\"he told his mother. \\\" I want to stay home with you. I want to play with myfriends. And play with my toys. And read my books. And swing on my swing.Please may I stay home with you?\\\"
Mrs. Raccoon took Chester by the hand and nuzzled him on theear.
\\\" Sometimes we all have to do thingswe don\\\'t want to do.\\\" She told him gently. \\\"Even if they seem strangeand scary at first. But you will love school once you start.\\\"
\\\"You\\\'ll make new friends. And playwith new toys.\\\"
\\\"Read new books. And swing on newswings. Besides,\\\" she added. \\\"I know a wonderful secret that willmake your nights at school seem as warm and cozy as your days at home.\\\"
Chester wiped away his tears and looked interested. \\\"A secret? Whatkind of secret?\\\"
\\\"A very old secret,\\\" said Mrs.Raccoon. \\\"I learned it from my mother, and she learned it from hers. It iscalled the Kissing Hand.\\\"
\\\"I\\\'ll show you.\\\" Mrs. Raccoontook Chester\\\'sleft hand and spread open his tiny fingers into a fan. Leaning forward, shekissed Chesterright in the middle of his palm.
Chester felt his mother\\\'s kiss rush from his hand, up his arm, and into hisheart. Even his silky, black mask tingled with a special warmth.
Mrs. Raccoon smiled. \\\"Now,\\\" shetold Chester,\\\"whenever you feel lonely and need a little loving from home, just pressyour hand to your cheek and think, \\\'Mommy loves you. Mommy loves you.\\\' And thatvery kiss will jump to your face and fill you with toasty warm thoughts.\\\"
She took Chester\\\'s hand and carefully wrapped hisfingers around the kiss. \\\"Now, do be careful not to lose it,\\\" sheteased him. \\\"But, don\\\'t worry. When you open your hand and wash your food,I promise the kiss will stick.\\\"
Chester loved his Kissing Hand. Now he knew his mother\\\'s love would go withhim wherever he went. Even to school.
That night, Chester stood in front of his school andlooked thoughtful. Suddenly, he turned to his mother and grinned.
\\\"Give me your hand,\\\" he told her.
Chester took his mother\\\'s hand in his own and unfolded her large, familiarfingers into a fan. Next, he leaned forward and kissed the center of her hand.
\\\"Now you have a Kissing Hand,too,\\\" he told her. And with a gentle \\\"Good-bye\\\" and \\\"I loveyou\\\", Chesterturned and danced away.
Mrs. Raccoon watched Chester scamper across a tree limb and enterschool. And as the hoot owl rang in the new school year, she pressed her lefthand to her cheek and smiled.
The warmth of Chester\\\'s kiss filled her heart with specialwords.
\\\"Chesterloves you,\\\" it sang. \\\"Chesterloves you.\\\"