A story for those who know the power of a Grandpa. Text below or watch the video.
The Mask - a different kind of Halloween story
Grandpa and Little Jack had a standing appointment on weekends - to deliver Grandma’s sweet bread to the church shut-ins. We’re pretty sure it was that sweet bread alone that kept people those people faithful - or maybe just knowing that they hadn’t been forgotten.
Many of life’s lessons were passed back and forth between Little Jack and his grandpa in the front seat of that rusty old Chevy that Grandpa called Lucky - same name he’d given to all his trucks since the day he met Grandma. Its dented fender reminded Jack not to judge a man by what he drives or the amount of dirt on his boots. Jack learned early that nothing defines a servant’s heart better than the boot prints in the yard of a neighbor in need.
Little Jack spent many hours riding shotgun with his Grandpa. Sometimes in a warm butter filled silence, knowing that some of the best words are the ones unspoken. Other days little Jack would complain about his sister, or a teacher who said he talked too much. And Grandpa would just listen and nod, and remind him that every moment has three stories - yours, theirs, and the truth that lies somewhere in the middle.
Every October when the leaves started to turn, Little Jack would start secretly counting the days until Halloween. Secretly, because his mamma said they weren’t allowed to celebrate Halloween. It wasn’t in alignment with what they believed. And Little Jack never understood it. All he knew was what it felt like to hear the other kids talk about it.
And what a coincidence it was that Grandpa happened to find that old Batman mask in the parking lot of the auto store. A cheap little dollar store plastic mask held on by a little rubber band. Never intended to last as long as it did, tucked under the seat of Grandpa’s Chevy.
We’re just bringing some joy to the shut ins, he would wink on that day each year when they pulled the mask out from its hiding place. And on that one day, Little Jack became Batman in overalls. The next year, Batman in rain boots. Batman in a cowboy hat. Batman with a cast. And the shut ins would act like they had no idea who it was, and drop a little candy into his fist on his way out the door.
They still call him Little Jack today, even though his hair is now gray and he’s not so little anymore. And every week he has a standing appointment with his granddaughter Lucy, who has Grandpa’s dimples and loves to deliver the sweet bread, she helped make, to the church shut ins. And every October she counts the days until her Grandpa reaches under the seat and pulls out that Batman mask.
Little Jack will tell you that sometimes the very best heroes in life are the ones whose magic powers are no fancier than a dollar store mask hidden up under the seat of a Chevy.
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