Some gifts are more from the heart than others.

When I was a small kid growing up outside of Boston, it always was a special treat for me when we made the trip to my grandparent's. They lived in a secluded spot in the woods of the Monadnock region of New Hampshire, in a converted summer cottage surrounded by acres of forest and with a great view of Monadnock from the front porch. My grandfather always had something special waiting for me, some toy that he would buy for me whenever I came to visit with my parents. But the gift I received from him one warm summer Sunday was one that I have always kept with me.

Sunday at my grandparent's was always interesting. My grandmother took her religious practice pretty seriously, and she thought it only proper that her husband should worship with her. My grandfather went along with her wishes on this point grudgingly; he didn't really like going to church, but he didn't want an argument either. He resented having to go, but he went just so he wouldn't have to listen to her complain. She would complain anyway; she could always find something wrong with Granddad's behavior.

"Oh Ted! Do you have to wear THAT tie?"

The whole attempt at appeasement was a wasted effort, part of a vicious cycle--he would acquiesce to avoid the conflict, and then he would resent the fact that he had to acquiesce, and then she would resent his resentment, and then he would resent that she resented... Well, you get the idea.

It was almost funny.

"Oh, Ted!"

To Granddad, I was one of the best things that had ever happened in his life. In his eyes, I think I was the answer to all his prayers. His oldest son, my father's brother and an uncle I never had the chance to meet, had been killed in Iwo Jima during the Second World War. It was a loss that I don't think my Grandfather ever recovered from. He came from a generation that put a lot of stock in the first-born male child, and when my uncle was killed, all of the hopes and dreams that my Granddad had for him were killed too. My birth seemed to symbolize a second chance; another first-born male son in the family, and he treated me with more generosity than a normal grandparent might have.

On this particular Sunday, my grandparents returned from church just before noon, and my mother and grandmother went to work in the kitchen preparing Sunday dinner. My dad was off doing what he really came to New Hampshire to do, playing tennis on the nearby clay courts where he had learned the game as a child. I was outside in the yard, amusing myself by throwing stones into the woods, and spraying various things with the garden hose.

Granddad wandered out onto the screened porch. He lit a smoke to help hide the real reason he was on the porch; to avoid getting involved in the work going on in the kitchen. Smoking was his only real joy in life; it was the only vice left to him. He couldn't drink for health reasons, and he made sure that he smoked enough to irritate my grandmother.

He sat in one of the painted wooden rocking chairs on the porch, smoking his cigarette as he watched me play. As I played in the yard, I worked my way towards where he was sitting. I loved being near him. Now, I understand that he was the only adult I knew who loved me without judgment; whatever I did was fine by him. Then, all I knew was that he made me comfortable, like and old, warm blanket that I could wrap around myself to keep out the cold and fear.

"Hi, Granddad."

"Hi, Neilly." Neilly was the what I was called then; I had my father's first name, and the adults in my life needed a way to differentiate me from my father.

"Whatjadoin?"

"Waiting for your grandmother to get dinner ready." He smiled, the smile that made me comfortable. It was an impish smile that I think he only had for me, and it always felt like a special secret that only he and I understood.

It was that smile that gave me the courage to ask my next question. "Can I spray you through the screen with the hose, Granddad?" The question surprised him. He laughed.

"Why do you want to do that?" I knew by the way he asked the question that it didn't really matter why; he was going to let me do it anyway.

"I just want to see what'll happen."

He laughed again. Evidently, it was a good enough reason, because he agreed to my request. "OK, but not too much, or your grandmother will get mad at me."

I aimed the hose at him as he sat on the porch in his best Sunday suit, with a lit cigarette in his hand. I hesitated for a few seconds, enjoying the thrill of what I was about to do. Then I let him have it.

The water shot out of the nozzle with a force that surprised me. The screen was no protection; all it did was diffuse the water and spread the spray into a larger area. Within seconds he was soaked from his hair down to his Sunday best shoes.

I laughed so hard I squealed. He was laughing just as hard. Our laughter must have sounded like two little kids getting away with something, because that's exactly what it was.

All the racket attracted my grandmother's attention, and within seconds she was at the doorway to the porch, staring wide-eyed at the scene that confronted her.

"OH TED! That's your best suit!"

I stopped spraying. The gig was up; we had been nabbed.

"What have you done? Look at you! You're soaking wet! Look at your shoes!"

He was too, soaking wet from head to toe. He sat there in silence, water dripping from his suit, from the chair, from the screen. A big drop of water swelled on the end of his nose, he wiped it off. The cigarette in his hand had turned into a soggy, brown mush in his fingers.

"Oh Dorothy, it's all right. I'm just having some fun with the boy."

The answer wasn't satisfactory to her mind, but she knew that to him, it was more than enough of a reason to completely ruin his best clothes. She pouted at him and told him to go change. "And put some newspaper in your shoes or you'll ruin them."

I stood there in terror outside the porch. I thought that I was in trouble too. Granddad smiled his smile and said, "Don't worry, it's OK. You asked permission and I said it was OK. You didn't do anything wrong."

I felt comfortable again.

That spraying was the favorite gift that I ever got from Granddad. That moment in time has stayed with me all my life. It was one moment when an adult let me do something that I knew was going to get someone into trouble, something that I knew, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't be allowed to do. At the age of five, I couldn't have known to ask for anything more than to spray him while he sat in his Sunday best clothes. And he had granted me my wish.

If I had known, I would have asked for more. I would have asked him to live longer than he did; to stay around and give that comfortable secret smile whenever I needed a little extra courage. As it was, he was gone a year later; the smoking had hurt his heart too much. Later on in my life, there were many times when it would have been nice to have someone in my life who loved me enough to let me spray them through a porch screen.