"You are quite a woman, little Fan!" exclaimed the boy.
She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. The she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.
The Fan in question is Scrooge's little sister. The boy in question is Scrooge's younger self. Fan is the only relative of Scrooge we meet in the novel besides Fred, Fan's son, and Fred's wife. This scene from the past hints at the close relationship Scrooge had with his sister, a "delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered," as the Ghost of Christmas Past describes her. Fan is everything that Scrooge is not: loving, warm, compassionate, and generous. She is the best part of Scrooge.
My daughter's last day of school for the year is Monday. On that day, she officially leaves elementary school behind her and becomes a middle schooler. I'm a little melancholy at that prospect. I know there's no way to keep my little girl little forever, but it seems like just yesterday that my daughter was in kindergarten. She really is the best part of me.
Yes, I'm going to become sentimental and mushy in this post. This time of year always thrusts me into a state of reflection. It's graduation season. Children leaving one stage of life and entering another. Pupas turning into butterflies. Of course, the kids have no idea what they're in for. My daughter is done with recess and Halloween costume parades. I have a nephew who will be a high school senior next year. One more year of school-age worries, and then the adult world for him, with all its attendant worries.
See, I told you I was going to get all mushy and sentimental. It doesn't help that I'm going to a graduation party this afternoon for the son of one of my best friends. Perhaps that's why I get so meditative around this time of year. If all these kids are getting older, that must mean I'm getting older.
Naaahhhh. Saint Marty isn't getting older. Just wiser and more talented.
Confessions of Saint Marty