As a young boy, I was carefree. Every vacation I looked forward to two things—seeing my grandpa and hearing his wonderful stories. My grandpa was a very good storyteller. He had worked various odd jobs when he was young and wove his adventures and misadventures into fantastic tales. These wonderful tales colored my childhood.

As I grew up, I had to admit that Grandpa’s stories went on a little long, even a little boring and gradually lost their magic. However, not wanting to upset him, my brother and I would sometimes take turns sitting in the living room, listening to grandpa tell his stories.

When my grandpa was approaching 91, he suffered from serious memory-loss. It was kind of what doctors called dementia (痴呆), probably the earliest stage of Alzheimer’s disease. Following the doctor’s directions, we moved him into a Sunrise Assisted Living Community, where he could get a better care. After that, grandpa hardly came to our house.

One weekend before my grandpa’s birthday, I came to visit him. Seeing grandpa sitting in his armchair, dull-looking, I was consumed with mixed feelings. I wheeled grandpa to the sunshine in the courtyard, talking to him. He couldn’t express himself clearly and spoke in short bursts, but I listened to him patiently and carefully just as I used to be a little boy.

It was then that I noticed a shadow box with some old and yellowish photos in it. I picked one up, in which my brother, several boys in our neighborhood, and I were playing basketball with grandpa cheering us on twenty years before. My mind flashed back to those beautiful memories. Back then, Grandpa was in good physical condition and we were all wearing basketball jerseys, playing and laughing with abandon. I presented the photo to my grandpa, pointing at each member and reminding him of their names. Incredibly, grandpa could speak out the name of every player. I even caught a soft light in grandpa’s eyes and a smile on his lips.

A bright idea for grandpa’s birthday came to my mind.

Seeing “the same players” playing there, grandpa seemed to have thought of something.

“Brrrrr—boppppp!” Ricky sat at the kitchen table, imitating the drumbeat of his favorite song as he finished his math homework. His pencil moved in time to the percussive (打击乐的) rhythms booming from his earbuds.

Grandma Johnson came into the kitchen just as Ricky was putting his math notebook back into his backpack.

“I don’t know how you get anything done listening to that hippity-hoppity noise,”she exclaimed.

Ricky took out his earbuds and fought hard not to roll his eyes. He knew Grandma Johnson was half-teasing. But the hip-hop rhythms relaxed his mind and quietened his thoughts, allowing his brain to focus on the page.

“Guess what, Grandma?” said Ricky. “I’ve finished my homework.”

Without his earbuds, Ricky could hear the music playing in the background — a song by Diana Ross and the Supremes. Pushing aside his annoyance, he took his grandmother’s hand and gave her a little twirl (旋转). Ricky has always felt close to his grandma. And now that his high school was near his grandmother’s Brooklyn home, he went there every day to eat dinner and do his homework before heading home to Harlem. Ricky knew his presence helped ease his grandmother’s loneliness, and he loved spending time with her. But… he just wished she would stop dismissing his favorite music as noise.

That evening, Grandma surprised Ricky with tickets to a Stevie Wonder concert at Madison Square Garden. Ricky was secretly disappointed, as he believed the concert would be boring compared to the hip-hop concerts he had attended. However, he smiled and thanked his grandmother for the gift. At dinner, Grandma Johnson took out her old photo albums and told Ricky stories about her past experiences at music festival s and concerts, including a Stevie Wonder concert in 1972. “This is not just music,” Grandma told him. “This is Black History, Black Culture. Blind as he is, he is a great musician.” But a Stevie Wonder concert today —an old guy on stage, playing a keyboard and singing? No dancers? No special effects? How boring!

The day of the concert arrived.

It turned out that the live performance differed from Ricky’s imagination.

My mother was a supporter of physical punishment, but for all her talking she has never spanked (打屁股) my siblings and me only once. Instead，she found ways of punishment that left a more lasting memory than giving us a spanking. One of the most memorable of these occasions occurred when I was four.

In the early 70’s my mother attended college during the day and I was in daycare. One day at daycare I watched an extremely tired mother attempt to pick up her daughter. The little girl asked, “Momma, are we going to McDonald’s for dinner?” The mother replied, “Honey, not tonight. Momma has to run a few errands (差事) and then we have to go home and cook dinner for Daddy.” “But I wanna go.” “Susie, I said not tonight. Maybe, if you are a good girl, we can go tomorrow.” Susie immediately dropped to the floor, kicking and screaming, “I want to go to McDonald’s.”

No amount of pleading (恳求) or scolding, her mother tried stopped Susie’s tantrum (发脾气). Finally her mother gave in, “Okay, Susie, let’s go to McDonald’s.” Susie stopped yelling and smiling she grabbed her mother’s hand and they left. To say I was amazed would be inaccurate; I was delighted that anything I wanted could be had by throwing a tantrum.

That day my mother picked me up early from daycare because we were going to a store to purchase some Christmas items. I was excited by the lights and decorations, and as we walked through the toy section on the way to the counter, I saw a toy I had to have. It was a white and red telephone whose bells rang as it was pulled along on a string. Looking lovingly up at my mother I asked, “Mama, can I have that telephone?”

She replied, “Baby, not now, but if you are a good girl, maybe Santa will bring it to you.” “But Mama, I want that telephone right now.” Her eyes narrowed and her hand tightened on mine. “Becky, you can’t have that telephone today, but if you misbehave, you can have a spanking.”

By now we were standing in the long holiday line to pay the bill, and I figured it was a good chance.

“Mama, stop. Mama, get up,” I tearfully pleaded.