Every day, I walk to my grandsons school. I am neither a teacher nor a caretakerjust an old man with a walking stick and a heart too restless to stay indoors. My name is William, and I do this for Matthewmy grandson, my pride, my joy.
The first time I saw him alone, he sat on a bench beneath the oak tree. The other children ran about, laughing and kicking a football. He remained there, hands on his knees, gaze distantthe look of a boy who longed to belong but didnt know how. When I took him home that evening, I asked, “Why dont you play with the others?”
He shrugged. “They dont want me, Grandad. They say Im too slow, that I dont understand the rules.”
That night, I scarcely slept. The next morning, I went to see the headmistress. “Miss Eleanor, Id like special permission. I want to be with Matthew during break times.”
She studied me kindly. “Mr. William, I understand your concern, but”
“There is no ‘but.’ That boy is my life. If he doesnt feel included, Ill make sure he does.”
From that day on, every morning at half past ten, I passed through the iron gate of the schoolyard. At first, the children eyed me curiouslyan old man in a flat cap and walking stick among their games. Matthew was embarrassed. “Grandad, you dont have to come.”
“Embarrassed of what? Having a grandfather who loves you?”
We started slow. I brought an old set of dominoes, then draughts. He laughed when I pretended not to notice his little cheats. One day, a small boy wandered over. “What are you playing?” he asked.
“Draughts,” I replied. “Fancy a go?”
His name was Thomas. He was six, with a gap-toothed grin. Matthew explained the rules patiently. The next day, Thomas returned, this time with his friend Emily. Little by little, our bench became a place of laughter and friendship. I brought a skipping rope, and we held small competitions. Matthew couldnt jump fast, so the others slowed their pace for him.
“Go on, Matt, youve got this!” Emily cheered.
“Five skips! New record!” Thomas shouted.
And I watched them, my heart full.
One afternoon, the P.E. teacher approached me. “Mr. William, what youre doing is remarkable.”
“Im not doing anything special,” I said. “Just being a grandfather who loves his grandson.”
She smiled. “No. Youre teaching them something we sometimes forgetthat everyone deserves a place, no matter their pace.”
Three months passed. I still come. But not because Matthew is alone. I come because now, eight or nine children wait for me, calling “Grandad Will!” the moment I step into the yard. Because Matthew has friends who invite him, defend him, and understand him.
This morning, as we played hide-and-seek, he hugged me tight. “Thank you, Grandad.”
“For what, lad?”
“For not leaving me alone. For showing me its all right to be different.”
I knelt before him. “Matthew, youve taught me that love never tires, that its never too late to make a difference, and that true courage is being there when someone needs you.”
The bell rang. The children filed back inside.
Matthew no longer walks with his head bowed.
Tomorrow, Ill return. And the day after that.
Because being a grandfather isnt just watching overits building bridges, reminding the world that no one, absolutely no one, should be left alone in lifes playground.
