I'm not one for kids. Brats screaming, yelling, not getting their way. Even at a carefully chosen matinee of Shrek 2 last week -- selected to avoid crowds and especially the little darlings -- children wailed, kicked seats and threw candy through the movie while their parents sat by, oblivious or sedated.

At my parents' house this weekend, my sister and her husband are visiting from the West Coast. As they rush around, grandma and grandpa will babysit my two-year-old nephew. "We're going to a party," my sister and her husband crouch before my nephew and hold his hands, "but we're coming back. We're coming back."

They walk out the door and my nephew starts screaming. "Oh my," says Dad, picking up Nephew, "Oh my now that's not good." Mommy! Out! wails my nephew, snot all over his face.

Nephew is scrambling and squealing, wanting to run after his parents, and my Dad is stressing out. "Here, Dad, why don't you give him to me," and I don't give him a choice. I take Nephew and put him over my shoulder, turn around and walk out the back patio into the back yard. In the lush twilight, he sits on one of my arms, resting over my shoulder and looking behind me. I rub his back with my other hand.

To my amazement, the wailing shuts off almost immediately and, in a few more minutes, even the whimpering subsides.

We walk around the house looking at things. I speak into his ear, and this is what I tell him: I grew up in this house, but I left a long time ago. I don't come back very often and I have mixed feelings when I do. It was a shock to come home this time and find your grandma, my mom, suddenly frail and bedridden. Death happens to everyone, and one of Life's great lessons is learning how to deal with it.

We stop at a tree in the backyard. This tree is an Ohio Buckeye. Look at its large, lush leaves. I can remember your grandpa's dad inspecting the trees and plants. He was a tree surgeon and a pretty neat-o guy.

My nephew breathes softly. He isn't squirming but I can feel him turning this way and that, looking. We sit on the front stoop and I see out of the corner of my eye that Grace sits inside the door staring at us. "Grth," says my Nephew. That's right, that's Grace.

A few hours later, my sister returns ebullient from the party. My brother-in-law trails with his digital camera, "Did you know that tonight was the first time in his life where he hasn't had one of us with him?"

(Using my dad's p.c., the draft function doesn't appear to work. This is a draft to be revised later.)