Remembering Grandpa’s instruction to be cool, I steady myself despite creepy sounds in the forest and continued on, hoping to discover the bridge Grandpa always mentioned.
Exhausted, the sun had set, and the woods were dark and threatening, I sank against a tree, longing for Aunt Daphne’s kitchen, with only stale cracker crumbs for food.
Drawing on Grandpa’s advice, I healed my wounds with heal-all leaves and continued on, until reaching a rushing river.
Despite the danger, I scrambled down the bank seeking water, only to slip and fall into the frigid torrent, screaming as the weight of my bag dragged me down.
Thinking of Grandpa, I found the fortitude to drop my backpack but clung to his metal box, fighting the river until a log rescued me and dumped me on the muddy shore, battered but alive. I hung my wet clothing to dry and, unable to wait any longer, opened Grandpa’s package, which contained merely a jar of honey and a photograph of us together. I recognized then that the ultimate prize was the virtue of hard work and perseverance, which Grandpa had always instilled in me.
Tearful and humbled, I erected a makeshift shelter for the night and, the next morning, continued through the woods, feeling Grandpa’s presence in memories of fishing and humming his favorite songs.
When I finally saw the bridge, hope rose, but the woodland quickly turned into a confused maze, leaving me terrified and weary, collapsing into a clearing where a dog discovered me just as rescuers arrived.
Aunt Daphne consoled me while I was in the hospital, telling me of Grandpa’s love for me even when I was angry or didn’t understand his ways. She brought me a brightly wrapped box—the Xbox I’d wanted—and said that Grandpa had left it for me to learn patience, hard work, and responsibility.
I pledged to be good, and as I offered Aunt Daphne some honey from the jar, I noticed the sweetness in both her grin and mine own. Years later, now 28, and far from that disgruntled adolescent, I run my own apiary and have two adorable honey-loving children, and every time I see their joy, I thank Grandpa for teaching me what is truly important.
