A nice article that is not about Cabrini

Butterscotch sweets wrapped in yellow cellophane with neatly twisted ends. The kind that make a lot of noise to open and stick to your molars when you bite them in half too soon. Pep-

SHANNA FANELLI permint candies, red and white pinwheels of sugar, those too packaged in individual wrappers. Halls cough drops, nasty little things but, for reasons I am not yet quite sure of and one my grandfather will argue, their sinus opening effect appeals to many.

My grandfather always has at least two of each in his pocket. He even has a surplus stock in a special kitchen cabinet known fondly as the "candy drawer." This drawer happily mixes cough drops with sweets, miniature chocolate bars, jelly beans, Twizzlers and fat-free mints. There is something for everyone and my grandfather is religious about keeping it full.

My grandfather is one of those types of people, the type who has a hello for everyone and either a butterscotch, peppermint or cough drop for anyone. He also has an honest mind, one whose truthful thoughts are expressed very loudly. I can remember cringing in church, (back pew, right side) as Pop-pop leaned over during the silence for prayer and announced for all to hear, "Boy, that fellow's getting fat. isn't he?"

Miraculously, no one heard, thank God.

My grandfather loves church. Every Sunday he dons his best suit and tie, one my mother made him for Christmas one year when she was a little girl. "See my tie?" he'll ask, his eyes disappearing in a proud smile of squints. He has a cane that he detests and a tiny black dog he adores. The people of our church have never seen his dog, but each Sunday someone will ask, "How's Tiger, Erve?"

"She says 'Hello,"' he'll answer and bless the inquirer with a peppermint. My sister and I wilJ smile, but roll our eyes over his head at each other. Doesn't he know that people are just humoring him, the little old man in the back pew? Inwardly, I cringe.

It takes a while for my grandfather to walk the aisle up to the altar for communion. He waits and lets us womenfolk go first, following last, although it would really be better if he went ahead, so we can keep an eye on him. I remember after Pastor gave him the blessing, he responded by giving her a cough drop. I was mortified. Nothing could be more unholy.

Going back to our seats, my grandfather would shake bands and greet people. I would hurry on by, bead down, knowing that somehow, one wasn't supposed to talk after receiving the Holy Sacrament and he should, too.

During the service, people like to try and sing solos in praise of God. After everyone, when the last note has painfully escaped and the music is closed, the congregation bows their head in prayer.

But not my Grandpa.

He sits up straight and claps his hands for all it's worth. I am now horrified and want to tell him it's not a concert and even if it was, no sounds like that should be encouraged.

But something strange happens. The entire congregation starts clapping also, nodding as my grandfather comments on how nice the message of that song was. Some even go so far as to throw in a couple of "Amens!" in agreement.

I look around and see, differently. I suddenly notice that half the people in the church are awake during the sermon, busily sucking at a butterscotch or peppermint. I watch my grandfather make his way down the aisle after communion and observe how others, too, are watching him, waiting for his smile and handshake, which is firm though his footing is not. I see the service become a celebration instead of an obligation. I hear the tiny microphone Pastor wears pick up the click of a cough drop against her teeth as she gives the benediction, her voice clear and finn without the interruption of a cough that had pestered her earlier.

In my family, we have to keep a special eye on my grandfather. He can't see very well due to cataracts but doesn't like to admit it. Sometimes, it can be very difficult balancing his pride and our concerns. After service, we stand ready to give aid if it's needed. My grandfather stands ready too.

He waits for the flood of people who "have to say goodbye to Erve," before they can leave the church. Children scramble to him, their "Candyman." My grandfather dishes out sweets, smiles and friendly words. Suddenly, it strikes me that it is not they who are humoring him. I smile and my Pop-pop sees it. "Honey," he says, "you catch more bees with honey than with vinegar."

One Sunday, we did not go to church. I can't remember why, but for whatever reason, we didn't. I called my grandfather to let him know we wouldn't be picking him up. ''I've never missed church," he informed me.

"No one will notice," I replied.

If words could be eaten, I'd be huge. People called my house, wanting to know where my grandfather was, if he was o.k. Later on, I told him this.

"No kidding?" he asked and smiled.

I love my grandfather. Evidently, I'm not the only one. When I am with him, I watch the way he talks to people. He treats everyone the same. I could learn a lot from him. He has a full drawer with something for everybody. He bas a pocket full of sweets and a finn handshake. My grandfather has people looking out for him, waiting for him and admiring him.

He can be a bit forgetful, old age happens, but he never forgets a face. "Treat others the way you would want to be treated," is his favorite motto. After service, we all get into the car. As my grandfather opens the door, groups of people wave good-bye to him. He waves back and then turns to me, "It was a beautiful service, did they see my tie?"

"Of course they did Pop-pop," I reply. And of course, they did. They really did.

Shanna Lynn Fanelli is the features and A&E editor for Loquitur. She had to be reassured that it is all right to write a viewpoint that is not about Cabrini. We're all glad that she did.