Yesterday, I took my just-turned-4-year-old grandson Alexander to the train station in downtown Providence to pick up his Mommy, Audrey.  She was returning from a trip to New York City.

Alex and I were a bit early.  The train was a bit late.  And these turns of events gave us time to do a little exploring.  We headed outside the station and Alex, who really is Indiana Jones, asked if he could climb up on the 3-4′ cement walls that enclose the bushes and flowers.

“Sure,” I found myself saying.  I didn’t need to help him climb up the wall.  Alex is a natural climber.  Well, he is Indiana Jones.  But I told him that he did have to hold my hand while he was up there.

He did.

Then he asked if he could jump down from up there.

“Um,” I thought.  Then I found myself saying, “Sure. If you hold my hand when you jump.”

He did.

We rode the escalator.  3 times.  But only if he held my hand.

He did.

Then we headed to the train platform.  There were a few people down there, all waiting for whatever journey they were taking on that Fall afternoon.  But my journey on that day was with Alex.  We held hands and walked the entire platform, all the way until we could see the sunny daylight around the bend.  We listened to everything… the residual rainfall gushing down the drainpipes from the storm the night before.  The wind whipping its magic through the tunnel .  A soda can making its music as it danced on the giant iron grate above our heads.  The footsteps of the people getting ready for their journeys. We held hands.

And then the beautiful sounds of the train bringing his Mommy home.  We listened to the announcement of the train’s arrival.  We listened to the giant wheels braking its momentum.  We listened to the rushhhhh of wind as the train brought Mommy into the station.  We heard the swish of the doors and the sounds of people. And we held hands.

Then we heard the most wonderful sound of all.  Mommy’s voice.

I let go of Alex’s hand and he ran into his Mommy’s arms.

It was one of the best days of my life.