My Grandson

Last week, I took my grandchildren to a restaurant.

My six year old grandson asked if he could say grace.

As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good, God is great. Thank you
for the food, and I would even thank you more if Grandpa gets us ice
cream for dessert. And liberty and justice for all! Amen."

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a
woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't
even know how to pray. Asking God for ice cream!

Why, I never!"

Hearing this, my grand-son burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it
wrong? Is God mad at me?"

As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job, and God
was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the
table. He winked at my grand-son and said, "I happen to know that God
thought that was a great prayer."

"Really?" my grand-son asked.

"Cross my heart," the man replied.

Then, in a theatrical whisper, he added (indicating the woman whose
remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for
ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."

Naturally, I bought my grand-children ice cream at the end of the meal.
My grand-son stared at his for a moment, and then did something I will
remember the rest of my life.

He picked up his sundae and, without a word, walked over and placed it
in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her,

"Here, this is for you. Shove it up your ass, you grouchy old *****!"

 

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