Growing up, I spent most of my summers with my grandparents. Although they have never lived far from my parents and I, I find myself missing my childhood memories with them. Being an only child, I was socially awkward when I was younger. Meeting other children was difficult for me at times. With the help of my grandparents, I learned that friends come in many forms. My grandmother has always enjoyed the outside world. Since I can remember, she has planted flower seeds and trees in her yard. With them, I learned the value in the small creatures living in and out of these plants. As each flower sprouted, we would give them names to show our gratitude towards them. My favorite part about being outside in their garden was the pomegranate tree that would provide an opaque amount of shade. It sheltered a fruit so rich in flavor, but only during the summer seasons.

The trees and flowers covered their beige colored house, reminding me of a blank canvas surrounded by artists painting with vibrant shades of green, brown, pink, yellow, red and orange. The colors are endless, and so are the mosquitos. Memories like being ecstatic to go outside and smell the soil that would stain my finger nails a faint brown and black color. On windy days the trees and flowers would move languidly like ballerinas dancing in clouds.The tall pomegranate tree seemed profound with its deep rooted and great appearance. It was the center of the kingdom my grandparents had established. Around the tree, their were many ant colonies as well as leaves to provide them with protection. Memories of the flavorful fruit falling off the pomegranate tree and surrounding it like guards protecting their kingdom still run through my mind.

I can still vividly remember picking up the superficial fruit that would fall from the tree was only the beginning of a mouthwatering journey. Running inside their house, I prepared the fruit to be cut open, my grandparents waiting for the surprise they knew was coming. As I cut open the pomegranate, I could already see the juice coming out of the fruit. My mouth begins to water. Having to subjugate my taste buds, I pick out the shiny red jewels from the pomegranate. Wanting to wait for my grandparents, I set aside the first round fruit and repeat the process two more times. Running outside with a three small bowls, I wait to eat the fruit, praying for deliverance. I finally take a handful and feel the burst of each seed, enjoying the freshness of the moment. Now that years have passed by, the gateway to our little kingdom has been taken away and placed in another section of their home.

Although these precious moments are now old memories, my grandparents have bequeathed their gift of loving all things in the outside world to me. At times, we reminisce about the fun filled messes and small adventures we had when I was a young child and we laugh about the times that cannot be measured by time. My grandparents continue to teach me the value of a loving home and God’s creations.