Kinan and Grandpa Jawad's Slow Walk to the Bakery

Every Friday morning, Kinan and his grandpa walked to the bakery at the end of Jasmine Street to buy warm bread for breakfast.

Kinan was five, and he loved to run. He ran down the stairs two at a time. He ran to the car. He ran to the bathroom, and sometimes he even ran back to bed.

Grandpa Jawad did not run. Grandpa Jawad walked slowly, with a wooden cane that went tock, tock, tock on the pavement. He had soft white hair and a grey cardigan with leather buttons, and he stopped often to say hello to people.

This Friday, Kinan was very hungry.

"Hurry, Grandpa!" he said, hopping at the gate. "The bread will be all gone!"

"The bread will wait for us," said Grandpa. "It always has."

Kinan ran ahead to the corner. Then he had to wait. He ran to the lamppost. Then he had to wait. He ran to the red post box. Then he had to wait again. Each time, Grandpa came tock, tock, tock along the pavement, smiling and in no hurry at all.

"Grandpa," groaned Kinan, "you're as slow as a snail."

Grandpa chuckled. "Snails see a great deal," he said. "Would you like to try walking like a snail with me? Just for today?"

Kinan wrinkled his nose. "Why?"

"Because," said Grandpa, "on a slow walk, the street shows you its secrets."

Kinan did not believe the street had any secrets. He walked down it every day. But he was curious. So he took Grandpa's free hand and walked beside him. Slowly. Tock, tock, tock.

At first it was very hard. Kinan's legs wanted to run. His feet kept skipping ahead. But Grandpa's hand was warm and steady, and little by little Kinan's feet slowed down to match the tock of the cane.

"Look there," said Grandpa softly, stopping by a low wall.

Kinan looked. He saw a wall. It was an ordinary wall, made of old yellow stones.

"Look closer," said Grandpa.

Kinan bent down. And there, in a crack between two stones, was a tiny green lizard, no longer than his finger. It was lying in the sun with its eyes half closed. Its skin was speckled like a pebble, and its little sides went in and out as it breathed.

"Oh," whispered Kinan. "He's sunbathing."

"Every morning," said Grandpa. "I say good morning to him on Fridays."

They walked on. Tock, tock, tock.

At the house with the blue door, Grandpa stopped again and closed his eyes. "Smell," he said.

Kinan closed his eyes and sniffed. At first he smelled nothing. Then he smelled it. Something sweet and white and heavenly, floating over the garden wall.

"Jasmine," said Grandpa. "That's why the street has its name."

Kinan opened his eyes and looked up. Over the wall spilled a waterfall of tiny white star-shaped flowers. He had run past this wall a hundred times, and he had never once noticed it.

They walked on. Tock, tock, tock.

Outside the shoe-mender's shop, an old man with a leather apron was sitting on a stool in the sunshine, tapping a little nail into the heel of a boot. Tap, tap, tap.

"Good morning, Abu Mounir!" said Grandpa.

"Good morning, Jawad!" said the shoe-mender. "And who is this fine young man?"

"This is my grandson, Kinan," said Grandpa proudly.

Abu Mounir held out his hand, and Kinan shook it. It was rough and strong and warm. "When your shoes are worn out, young man," said Abu Mounir, "bring them to me. I'll make them good as new."

They walked on. Kinan noticed things everywhere now. A grey cat washing her paws on a windowsill. A tiny bird's nest tucked under the edge of a balcony, with a little beak poking out. A crack in the pavement shaped exactly like a running horse. A lady watering pots of red geraniums, who waved at them and called out, "Good morning, Jawad! And good morning, little Jawad!" That made Kinan laugh, because she thought he was a small copy of Grandpa. He walked a little taller after that, and he tapped the pavement with his foot, tock, tock, tock, just like the cane.

"Grandpa," said Kinan, "there are so many secrets."

"There always were," said Grandpa. "You were just running past them."

At last they reached the bakery. The door was open, and the smell rolled out to meet them, warm and toasty and golden. Inside, the baker, a round, cheerful woman with flour on her nose, was sliding hot flat loaves out of the big oven on a long wooden paddle.

"Jawad!" she said. "Just in time. These are the hottest loaves of the morning."

Kinan looked at Grandpa with wide eyes. "The bread waited for us," he said.

"It always does," said Grandpa, winking.

The baker wrapped six warm loaves in paper and gave Kinan a small round one, all for himself, still puffed up like a pillow. He held it in both hands. It was so warm it made his fingers tingle.

On the way home, Kinan did not run ahead once. He walked beside Grandpa, tock, tock, tock, nibbling his little loaf and pointing out the secrets.

"There's the lizard. He's moved to the other stone."

"There's the jasmine. It smells even stronger now."

"There's Abu Mounir. Good morning again, Abu Mounir!"

When they got home, Mama opened the door. "That took a long time," she said. "Were there lots of people at the bakery?"

"No," said Kinan, with breadcrumbs on his chin. "We walked like snails. And the street showed us its secrets."

Mama looked at Grandpa. Grandpa looked at Mama. They both smiled.

The next Friday morning, Kinan was waiting at the gate before Grandpa had even put on his cardigan.

"Hurry, Grandpa!" he said.

Grandpa raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Hurry and get ready," said Kinan with a grin, "so we can walk very, very slowly."