Megan Elizabeth McLeod

April 20, 2009

Some people are content to be spectators ... to sit in the stands and watch life being played out in the arena below. Spectators are smart. They're safe from harm, and more than that, they're safe from criticism. High up in the stands, spectators can observe and discuss human error in everyone else while carefully keeping their own behavior above reproach.

It's a good deal.

Maybe.

But most people figure they can find safety when lying in their graves, and as long as they're alive they choose to live fully.

Into life's arena they go.

Meggie was never what you would call spectator material.

When she was three-years-old ... several grade-school children were playing ball in the front yard, and Meggie insisted upon participating although neither side wanted a baby on their team.

My brother and I were an audience of two ... drinking iced tea on the front porch.

After inviting herself into and being kicked out of the same game over and over again, Meggie got her revenge. When no one was looking she snatched up a foul ball, hid it in the folds of her ruffled skirt and casually sat on the porch steps to watch as big kids exhausted themselves searching for a rubber ball she knew was tucked securely behind her back.

My brother thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

I said, "Oh, Ken, she'll be in reform school before she's nine."

He said, "Well, look at it this way ... She'll be the cutest sweetest little thing reform school ever got hold of."

Twenty years passed.

Word drifted back to me that Megan was going to New York to work as a Nanny.

New York? NEW YORK? Yes, yes, New York!

I quick found a chair and sat down.

Gradually, as the months went by, I began to believe a young girl could spend time in the big city and live to tell about it. She seemed to be surviving.

Just as the knots in my stomach began to relax, I heard Meggie was doing a little modeling.

I took to my sick bed as visions of bear skin rugs raced through my mind.

Imagine my great joy, recently, when I received a copy of a magazine called, "Ready Made." It specializes in knitting winter scarfs and making candy and creating crafts out of neckties. It's nice! It's just like Better Homes and Gardens! And there on page 40 is our Meggie, fully clothed, innocently reading a book. And on page 41, there is our same red-headed darling eating popcorn and watching TV.

I wanted to carry that magazine up and down the street, knocking on doors, insisting that everyone - friends and strangers alike - admire my granddaughter.

Phillip restrained me.

I'm trying to get extra copies of this issue. I know her uncle Ken will want one. And several aunts, uncles and cousins.

I'm so proud.