Zachary Evans sat on the steps to his apartment building with his head in his hands.
"What's the matter, young man?" Mr. Bell asked as he walked up the sidewalk.
Zachary frowned. "Aw nothin '." He kicked the step.
The white-haired man with the bushy eyebrows sat down beside Zachary. "Can't you talk about it to a friend?"
"Well . .. okay . . . I need a Grandpa," he admitted. "I need him by tomorrow morning."
Mr. Bell scratched his head. "Hm-m-m! That is a problem."
"I have a Grandpa in Idaho," the boy explained, "but he's too far away to come to South Dakota. Grandparents' Day is tomorrow and . . " He sighed. "And you need a school Grandpa."
"That's right." Zachary nodded. ''So I'm waiting for Mr. Williams, the garbage man."
"He might be all right," the white-haired man said.
''I hope so."
"Good luck, then." Mr. Bell patted the boy's shoulder and walked across the street to his own house.
Zachary was glad his friend went home. Usually, he liked visiting with Mr. Bell, but today he had more important things to do.
He ran down the steps and paced the sidewalk in front of the garbage cans. Back and forth. Back and forth. Why did Mr. Williams take so long to pick up the garbage?
Scre-e-ech! Scre-e-ech! The garbage truck finally rolled down the street.
Zachary perched himself on the biggest garbage can.
"Hi, Zachary," Mr. Williams said. "You're up early."
"Do you like me?" the boy asked.
"Of course I do," the garbage man answered.
"Do you like me good enough to be my grandpa at ten o'clock tomorrow morning?"
"I like you, all right, but who would pick up everybody's garbage?"
"Oh." Zachary jumped down on the sidewalk.
Mr. Williams emptied the garbage cans and drove away. Zachary picked up a stone and threw it.
"Whoa! You almost hit me," said Mr. Thomas, the mailman.
"I'm sorry," Zachary apologized.
"You seem a little out of sorts, Zachary. What's the matter?"
"I need a Grandpa, and I can't find one." The boy pointed to the mailman. "You'll do."
"I'll do what?" Mr. Thomas asked.
"You'll do for a grandpa at Grandparents' Day at school tomorrow."
"I'd like that," the mailman said, "but people don't like their mail to be late. Sorry, Zachary. Maybe next time."
"Yeah, maybe next time."
When Zachary looked up, Mr. Jones, the milkman was pulling up beside him.
"Good morning, Zachary," the milkman said. He handed the boy a gallon of milk.
"How do you feel about grandpas?" Zachary asked.
''I like them."
''So do I," Zachary said. ''Will you be my grandpa for Grandparents Day tomorrow morning?"
"Wish I could," Mr. Jones sad, "but kids get mighty hungry if they don't have milk for their cereal."
Zachary snapped his fingers. "I never thought of that."
The milkman waved and drove away.
"Now, what will I do?" He scooted back across the street to Mr. Bell.
"Any luck, Zachary?"' his white-haired friend asked.
The boy shook his head. "Nobody wants to be my grandpa."
''Maybe you're looking too hard," Mr. Bell said.
"I am?"
"Yes, sir. Maybe there's a Grandpa, waiting to be asked, right under your nose."
Zachary spun around. ''I don't see any Grandpa."
"Well, don't give up yet." Mr. Bell's bushy eyebrows moved up and down.
Zachary left his friend and scooted up the steps to his third floor apartment home. He opened his bedroom window and leaned on the window sill.
"I wonder what Mr. Bell was talking about," he thought to himself. "I've never heard of a right-under-your-nose Grandpa before."
This was terrible. He would be the only kid in his class without a Grandpa. Zachary looked up and down the street. ''There aren't any Grandpa-looking people under my nose."
His friend, Mr. Bell, was still working in his yard. His white hair looked even whiter from the third floor window. His bushy eyebrows looked even bushier.
Mr. Bell looked up and waved. Zachary waved back.
"I wish there was a Grandpa right under my nose . . . Hey, wait a minute!"
Zachary closed the window and ran down the stairs, two at a time.
"Mr. Bell! Mr. Bell!" he shouted as he sped toward his friend. "I gotta talk to you right now."
The white-haired man stopped mowing his lawn.
"I . . . I . . . I . . . " Zachary's breath whistled.
"Slow down, son," Mr. Bell said.
"Do you remember what you told me? About a grandpa?" Zachary's breath still whistled. "Well, I was thinking and looking, and there you were, right under my nose.'' He grabbed his friend's thumb. "Will you be my grandpa tomorrow morning?"
"I'd be happy to be your grandpa, Zachary."
Zachary smiled and squeezed Mr. Bell's thumb. You just couldn't tell who might turn out to be a right-under-your-nose grandpa.
What did you think about this
story? Please send us your comments!
Return to the Table of Contents.