WHAT LOVE IS

  By

Michael Edwin Q.

When my brother, Pete, and I were still boys, not quite in our teens, while Grandpa Jim was still alive, he'd take us camping for one week every summer. We roamed the California Mountains north of San Francisco. They were Grandpa Jim’s old stomping grounds, where he used to pan for gold in his youth. He never hit it rich, but he accumulated a lifetime of memories in less than ten years.

During those summer getaways, we’d hike, fish, and pan for gold. The brooks and streams were long since depleted of most of their gold; but we were able to pan out a few flakes, enough to give us pocket money when we got home. Listening to Grandpa Jim, as we panned, was the most fun.

I remember one day while panning, we learned how old our grandfather truly was – eight seven, we were shocked.

“Yeah, I only hope I live long enough to see you boys find some good women, fall in love, and marry,” he said with a chuckle.

Pete put down his pan, looked across the brook at Grandpa Jim, and spoke with deep sincerity. “Grandpa, what is love? I mean, everybody’s always talking about it. And when you ask them what love is, they always have an answer. But I ain’t ever heard one that made any sense.”

The old man laughed. “If you don’t try to complicate matters, it’s an easy question to answer.” He brought his pan down into the brook. When he raised it up, it was full of dirt and water. He held it out to Pete. “Here you go, Pete, there’s gold in this pan, try to pull it out.”

“I can’t,” said Pete. “Nobody can. You’ve got to work the dirt out first. What’s left is gold.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Grandpa Jim. “Everybody knows what love isn’t. All you need to do is get rid of everything that ain’t love, and what’s left is love.”

We stared at him as if he were a sage from ancient times – wise and caring.

Grandpa Jim never lived long enough to attend either of our weddings. But I tell you he was there, my friend, he was there.

THE END