“That’s my Gigi! That’s my Gigi!”

Even though my physical therapy had been particularly rough today, and I had spent most of the afternoon dozing on my heating pad to ease the pain these words from my grandson’s lips caused my heart to leap in my chest. Having Gauge’s face light up when he saw me and hearing the pride in his voice made the effort of attending his scouting function seem like no effort at all.

My daughter in love had spent almost all day decorating the church hall where the Blue and Gold Banquet and cake auction was to be held. My plan was to nurse my sore hip and my wounded pride from feeling like a wimp by staying glued to my recliner. When Cherrie called to remind me of the scouting banquet I didn’t have the heart to tell her I just didn’t feel like attending so I rose gingerly from my chair to get ready.

I didn’t do much getting ready actually. I wore the same pink velour suit I had worn all day, but I did brush my hair and apply a little lipstick. When Mike and I wheeled into the parking lot Gauge was at the door waiting. I heard his excited voice calling out, “That’s my Gigi! That’s my Gigi!,” and something marvelous happened. My focus changed from my tough day to my loving grandson, and somehow I didn’t notice the pain I had been nursing all afternoon.

Even though I felt pretty frumpy, Gauge obviously thought his grandma had it going on. He even mentioned how soft my outfit felt as he escorted his Pop and me into the hall. The other ladies along with Gauge’s mom did a tremendous job preparing for the event. Everything looked fantastic from the balloon-covered banners to the colorful centerpieces adorning each table.

Some of the scouts presented the colors and Gauge blessed our meal before we ate. Soon the room was filled with activity with the older scouts serving a surprisingly delicious spaghetti dinner. It seems that spaghetti is the meal of choice for the troop, but this was actually good.

A dignitary or two spoke briefly, and then the real fun began. Many of the scouts brought cakes to be judged and auctioned off. The auctioneer kept everyone laughing and bidding higher and higher for each culinary delight. I had my eye on a particularly delicious looking Butterfinger cake and waited until it came up to bid. Apparently, someone else had been waiting for this particular cake also, and a bidding war ensued.

Even though it was a wonderful cause I hadn’t planned to spend more than $50 for a cake, but I got caught up in the excitement and paid $56. That competitive spirit of mine that causes me to work hard at therapy also encouraged me to spend a little more. This special scouting evening put my perspective on others instead of myself, and I was better for it.

Jan Penton Miller can be reached at lilsisjan@yahoo.com.