The Wisdom of a Grandparent
My grandfather, on my mother’s side, was a civil engineer by profession. He passed when I was too young to remember him. His name was from another era—Preston. My grandmother, Kathryn, gave birth to my mother, Catherine in 1931. They lived in a modest yet spacious rowhouse in Baltimore City. This was at a time when families had a four-floor rowhouse that hadn’t been dismembered and renovated as multiple apartments. For those who’ve lived in one of these spacious old homes, the ceiling height is one of the first details that attracts one’s attention. The classic black and white checkered bathroom tile and long bathtubs is another feature that brings back a few memories as well. The house was located on Bolton St at the corner of Reservoir. It was a short walk to school, and a maid would accompany Catherine to the corner where she’d cross the street. The maid would turn on her heel and Catherine was on her own.
During this short distance to elementary school #61, a boy who was twelve, as in— a “bigger boy” to a six-year-old— threw stones at Catherine. When Catherine walked into the school hallway, the principal was herding the children in to begin the day. She mentioned that a bigger boy had thrown stones at her, and the principal telephoned Preston to let him know.
The boy was identified and called into the principal’s office where Preston was waiting. What transpired is akin to a parable about the wisdom of king Solomon. Rather than admonishing the boy or delivering a cuff to the ear, Preston told the boy that someone had thrown stones at Catherine and it really wasn’t right. He then asked the boy to act as Catherine’s protector and make sure that no one would try to hurt her.
That was that— the boy did change his attitude and Catherine had a new ally.
