Disclaimer: Paul Haggis created the characters and Alliance owns them. I'm just borrowing them; I mean no harm.

Author's Notes:

Story Notes: Expanding on the childhood incident related by Ben in the dS episode, The Promise.

When you're six years old, long-distance car trips can be intolerable. However, one particular drive home from Aklavik seemed infinitely quicker than had the drive up a few days earlier. I suppose that's because, while I had been eager to get to the big city, where my grandparents and I spent a short holiday, I quite hopelessly wished the return home could be postponed indefinitely.

I kept my grandparents occupied in conversation for most of the drive. Occasionally, Grandma would try to quiet me for a while by giving me a book to read, but even that I turned into a group activity. I would question the pronunciation or meaning of a word which I understood quite well or insist on discussing the merits of the story. And there was a very logical method to this madness: I needed to distract them to the point that they would forget about the very thing that had me in such a state of anxiety.

"Let's go, Ben," Grandma said from outside the car, where she stood holding out my duffel bag to indicate that I was to take it from her.

I was reluctant to move from the car, however. I glanced back quickly and saw Grandpa busy unloading the vehicle. "Can I help Grandpa get the stuff outta the car?" I asked without relinquishing my seat.

"Grandpa can manage. Come take your bag and follow me, please. We have business to attend to."

Shucks! I thought to myself. She hadn't forgotten. I shuddered involuntarily as I realized there was no escaping the inevitable. It was time for the spanking Grandma had promised me.

Two days earlier, there had been an unfortunate incident while the three of us were window shopping in Aklavik. Perhaps I'm not being entirely truthful to call it an unfortunate incident. That makes it sound as if it couldn't have been avoided, when, in point of fact, it had been a deliberate act on my part.

What had happened was that I had disobeyed a very clear order from my grandparents to remain at their side as we strolled through the center of town. Well, with the curiosity and independent nature typical of a six-year-old, I had ventured a few steps away while they were both engrossed in conversation with a merchant and, before I knew it, I had become completely disoriented in the strange city that was bustling with people who had come from far and wide for the semi-annual marketplace. It was hours later and dark before I was finally reunited with my grandparents and, despite their obvious joy to have found me, safe and sound, my grandmother followed up a welcoming hug with a proclamation of disturbing conviction, "As soon as we get home, young man, I promise you a tanning you won't soon forget!"

Why she couldn't have spanked me then and there instead of leaving it to hang over my head for two days, I don't know. Unless that was just it. Anticipation can be a punishment in itself, and I suppose a desire to get it over with led me to acquiesce and follow my grandmother into the house. Well, that and Grandpa's none-too-subtle suggestion that I obey Grandma.

After obediently dropping my duffel bag in the living room of the cabin, I was led by the hand into the small study which I had only visited once before, on an equally inauspicious occasion. Before I had been allowed to leave the study on that day, my bare bottom blushed with the impress of my grandmother's hand. It was momentarily comforting to remember that it hadn't really hurt for very long, but as Grandma dragged me behind the desk, I suddenly recalled with foreboding her warning on that day that she would 'tan my hide properly' the next time.

Sure enough, Grandma opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a long-handled and weathered wooden spoon. It hadn't been an idle threat. No doubt, I was confronting the very same wooden spoon that had disciplined my father, and at that moment I couldn't have felt closer to him if he had been right there in the room. Which, unfortunately, he wasn't. I drew back from my grandmother but didn't get very far as she still held my hand firmly. She sat down and pulled me close.

"All right, Benton, over my lap, please," she ordered and attempted to guide me against my resistance. It was odd. She didn't appear angry, but she also didn't appear to be hesitant about what she intended to do. The few times that Dad had swatted me, I was always well aware of his frustration. But I could discern no emotion of any kind from Grandma.

"Are ya still real mad at me, Grandma?" I asked, maintaining my upright position with my free hand pressed against her knee and my elbow rigidly locked.

"No. And the word is 'angry,' not 'mad,' if you please."

"Oh. I thought they were the same thing."

"No. They're often used interchangeably, but, strictly speaking, that's an imprecise use of the language."

"Then what does 'mad' mean?"

"It describes someone who has lost his wits."

"Lost his what?"

"Not his what, his wits."

"What's wits?"

"We'll discuss it later." She tightened her hold on my hand to remind me, "This is a disciplinary session, not a vocabulary lesson."

"You're still gonna spank me anyway, even though you're not mad -- angry, I mean?"

"Yes, I am. Anger is beside the point. You disobeyed me."

"Oh." I disallowed the tears that urged to be shed and nervously shuffled my feet. "Mum did that once," I said, eyeing the wooden spoon. "It hurt pretty bad," I informed her earnestly, with quivering lip.

"Ben..." she began, but I wasn't finished warning her of the possible results of following through on her intentions.

"Then she cried in her room."

I saw slight hesitation in Grandma after she lifted my face to hers and eyed me steadily. A speck of emotion escaped her in a short sigh, but then she squinted her eyes and spoke calmly. "I'm not your mother, Ben. We both know that. But I am responsible for raising you, a responsibility, I might add, that has filled me and your grandpa with great joy since, er, since you came to live with us. However, it is also a responsibility which we take very seriously -- especially at times like this." She paused, her face grew stern, and she continued. "Deliberate misbehaviour will be punished, Benton. Have I not made that clear in the past?"

I wasn't going to answer, but when she raised her eyebrows to demand a reply, I acquiesced with a stubborn nod of my head.

"Very well. Then you leave me no choice." She again tried to turn me over her knee, but I held my ground.

"But I said I was sorry. I really, really am."

"I know you're sorry, but I can't let you grow up believing you can escape consequences for disobedience just by saying you're sorry. That wouldn't be fair to you."

"I wouldn't mind," I assured her.

Grandma frowned her disapproval, then, with an authoritative nod of her head, she once again directed me to assume the position.

"How about if I promise I won't ever do it again?"

"Certainly, you may do that."

"And then you won't have to spank me?"

"I already answered that question. You disobeyed me and you're getting the spanking I promised you. Now, that's enough stalling, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered bravely. In retrospect, I can appreciate the patience she showed. Although my grandmother wasn't a particularly big woman, she struck quite an imposing figure to a guilty six-year-old and, if she'd had a mind to, she certainly could have overpowered me at any time instead of allowing me to submit once I was ready. After stretching my free hand as wide as possible across the seat of my pants, I reluctantly readied myself at her side. But before I bent over, I looked at my grandmother and pleaded for mercy. "Does it hafta hurt a real lot?"

"You're being punished, not rewarded."

"I know, but "

"Listen, you could've been very seriously harmed as a result of your disobedience. I'm spanking you because I don't want to see you harmed."

"But, gee whiz, Grandma, the spanking's gonna harm me," I pointed out, quite perplexed, but guessing it must've been an awful long time since Grandma had been spanked.

"I think that's highly unlikely, Benton. I'm merely going to spank your bottom. Yes, it'll hurt for a bit, but there's a world of difference between the sting of a quick spanking and the lasting harm that could've befallen you when you wandered from our side in the city. And I intend to see that you think twice before putting yourself in such danger again. Perhaps it's hard for you to believe right now, but, take my word for it, a sore behind is a small price to pay for your safety."

"So, it's gonna hurt bad?" Clearly, I was only interested in the bottom line, so to speak.

"No more than it will hurt me," she answered with a nudge, starting to lose patience.

I furrowed my brow in a frown of dissatisfaction, as I found her reply difficult to believe, but I didn't argue. Instead, I pondered how to ask the question that suddenly came to mind as I recalled my last visit over her knee. "Grandma?"

"I said no more stalling, Ben, and I expect you to mind me."

"I know, I will, but I have to ask you something first."

"It can't wait?"

"Uh-uh. It's important."

"All right, what is it?"

"Um, well, isn't it rude to pull your pants down in front of somebody so they can see your bare butt....I mean, unless you're just going swimming with other boys or something like that?"

Grandma hesitated for a second then replied, "Yes, it is. So, seeing as you're not here to go swimming or anything like that, why don't you let your trousers be and just bend over, please."

Grateful for small favours, I nodded, took a deep breath, and draped myself across her lap, grasping her skirt in a tight fist. She lifted my other hand from my bottom and held it in hers at my side, and my fingers clung desperately to her hand as if it were a bullet to bite on. In fact, I clutched her so hard that I must admit to a certain amount of satisfaction in the knowledge that Grandma was, after all, going to experience some discomfort along with me. But, as she never flinched, I resolved not to, either.

Without further ado, Grandma raised the wooden spoon and delivered about a handful of unmistakably deliberate whacks I lost count after the first - and then helped me up from her lap as we continued to squeeze each other's hands. I refused to shed tears, allowing only a muted 'ow' and a wince as the sting continued to burn as I returned to my feet. As I hung my head in sorrow, I tugged at the seat of my jeans to ease the friction against my backside.

"You're all right, aren't you?" she asked sincerely.

"Uh huh," I gasped out, stifling a sob. I finally looked up at her after she remained silent for several seconds, and I found her regarding me very intently. I wanted to tell her how much my bottom was hurting in the hope that she would bestow a little comforting, but I knew a man would bear the pain quietly especially when he deserved it.

"Is there something you want to say?" she asked, apparently sensing my secret desire.

I responded by dropping my head again and shaking it once, back and forth.

"You may go to your room, Ben," she dismissed me as she returned the wooden spoon to its place in the drawer of the desk and gently shook her hand free of mine.

"Do ya mean I hafta, Grandma?" I asked after lifting my eyes to her, genuinely uncertain as to her meaning.

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"How long do I hafta stay there?"

"I'll think about it. Meanwhile, you can give some thought to your behaviour, as well."

"Whaddaya mean?"

Grandma set her jaw and then put her arm around me and escorted me to the door, massaging my ear lobe on the way. "I mean you can think about what you're going to do the next time you're tempted to disobey me." She opened the door and, after a parting tug on my ear, nodded her head in the direction of my room.

"Oh. Okay, Grandma. I'll think real hard 'bout it."

"Good, you do that. We'll have another little talk in a while, and then the matter will be considered closed."

As I went into my room, I heard Grandpa's voice calling across the living room to Grandma. "You only did what had to be done, Martha. The boy had it coming. I would've done the same if you hadn't."

I needed to hear my grandmother's response, so I loitered just inside the doorway and listened.

"I know, George. Trouble is, knowing it has to be done never makes it any easier."

"Nobody ever said raising a kid was easy."

Grandma chuckled lightly. "No, they never did. That's a certainty."

"Ben knows you love him."

"I hope so. I tried to let him know I was acting in his best interests, but if I wanted him to take me seriously, I had to appear austere."

"He's a smart kid. He'll figure it out."

"You know, he never cried a single tear, but I could tell he was close to it. Truth be told, I wish he had. He holds so much in, George, it worries me. He's a real chip off the old block."

"Yes, he's a tough little shaver, no mistake. But, perhaps now he's alone in his room he'll have a good bawl. When I was his age, I often preferred to console myself with a good pillow soaking in private."

Their conversation had become progressively quieter, so I had inched my way closer to the doorway until, without realizing it, I was partly visible to my grandfather where he stood in the living room.

"Benton?" Grandpa called to me in a brusque voice.

I stepped back into my room and answered innocently, "Yeah, Grandpa?"

"Come out here, son."

"Grandma says I hafta stay in here," I answered nervously, desperate to avoid facing him because I was fairly certain he had seen me and knew I'd been listening.

"Do as I tell ya, boy!" he commanded sternly.

I took a deep breath, then stepped out of my room but didn't approach my grandparents, who were both now facing my direction.

"Closer. I need a word with you."

I kept my head down as I shuffled over to my grandfather and stood before him with my hands clasped behind me. When I heard him clear his throat in an attention-demanding manner, I lifted my face and looked at him expectantly.

"Is there something you'd like to ask us?" he said.

"No, I can't think of nothing."

"Anything," Grandma corrected softly.

"I can't think of anything," I repeated the entire sentence as I had been taught to do by Grandma.

"You must be curious about something because you were eavesdropping on your grandma and me just now."

In the face of such an open confrontation, I could feel my cheeks and ears turn a warm crimson which I imagined would rival the state of my behind. "I'm sorry, Grandpa." I knew there was no point in denying the accusation, so I lightly cupped my sore bottom with my hands and peeked up at him contritely.

"Did you hear anything, er...interesting?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and hung my head again to try to hide my blush. "What's, um, austere mean?" I finally asked.

"I'm disappointed, Ben," Grandma responded, obviously annoyed, but failing to answer my question. "You know better than to eavesdrop."

I shuffled my feet and tried to think of a response which wouldn't get me into even further trouble.

"Perhaps Benton was practicing his Mountie skills again. Eh, buddy?" Grandpa offered.

Eager to accept this gift from Grandpa, I looked up, first at him and then at Grandma, and replied, "Uh huh. Dad says sometimes Mounties hafta hide from the criminals before they can catch 'em."

"That's fine, but I don't believe there are any criminals nor Mounties here, are there?" Grandma asked.

"No. I was just pretendin'."

"Pretending you were eavesdropping on criminals?"

"Uh huh. So when I'm a real Mountie I'll know how to do it good, Grandma," I explained.

"Do you mean 'well'?" she asked with a frown.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry. So I can do it well."

"Ah, but a real Mountie wouldn't have got himself caught, eh?" Grandpa reminded me with the kind of sarcasm I was more used to hearing from my father.

"Yeah, I know. I guess I hafta keep practicin'."

"So it would seem," he agreed with a slight edge to his voice which gave me pause.

"I may not have made it clear, Ben, but you're being punished. This is not the time to be playing pretend," Grandma scolded gently.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. I'll stop playing."

"Fine. Now, I'd like you to run into the study "

"Again, Grandma?" I whined, interrupting her in mid-sentence to protest against more punishment.

"Ben -- " she tried to stop my protest, but I was adamant.

"But you already..."

"Ben -- "

"...gave me a..."

"Ben -- "

"...spanking with the -- "

"Benton Fraser!" she shouted, getting my attention at last.

"What, Grandma?"

"You very rudely interrupted me. Now let me finish speaking, please," she admonished, then continued as her fingers squeezed my chin and blushing cheek, "There's a book on the corner of the desk. I want you to take it with you to your room and study it."

I was about to obey, but a frightening question came to mind. "What book is it?"

"The dictionary."

"The dictionary? Ya don't read the dictionary!"

"You do if your grandmother tells you to," Grandpa contradicted firmly.

"I don't know a bunch of the words yet, though."

"Well, then I suppose by the end of the day you'll know a few more of them, eh?" Grandma proposed.

I couldn't let this drop without a fight. It just seemed like the most ridiculous request to expect someone to read the dictionary. "Can't I just go to my room and think about the next time I'm gonna disobey ya?"

Grandma's eyes widened as she stared at me. "If you don't do as I told you this instant, young man, this will be the next time you disobey me! And I had greatly hoped it wouldn't happen so soon."

Well, that was that. There was no way in heck I was gonna disobey a direct order like that. Not when I still suffered a freshly chastised behind. I plastered a big pout on my face and went to fetch the book. I then tried to duck into my room, as I had nothing more to say to my grandmother. At least, nothing that I dared say.

"Benton?" Grandma spoiled my get-away.

"What?" I muttered with childish impudence.

"Please take your bag with you. Unpack first, then you may start your studying."

I complied, but not without an exaggerated show of displeasure, stomping my feet as I crossed the room to get my bag. A voice inside my head kept warning me that I was showing disrespect for my elders and was inviting a reprimand, but my body seemed to have a mind of its own -- and a very obstinate mind, at that.

The dictionary was rather large, or so it seemed to me at the time, as I was much smaller then, but I managed to tuck it snugly under my arm so that I could carry my duffel bag at the same time. I stomped even more decisively on my return trip across the room and made a point of brushing Grandma as I passed, so that she could not escape noticing my indignation. As the adrenaline rushed through me, I half expected to be hauled up by the ear and brought down to size -- and Grandma would have been well within her rights to do so -- but it wasn't until I stood just outside my bedroom door that she spoke.

"Thank you, honey," her pleasant voice penetrated my armor. She often used such endearments when addressing me, but it struck me that this had been the first one she'd used since the incident in Aklavik -- not counting the abundant affection she had showered upon me during those first, brief moments following my return from the lost. Once she'd noticed that I had returned minus one brand new oxford, the harsh words had begun.

My anger seemed to vanish as quickly as it had overcome me and I turned my head hoping for affirmation of the love I had sensed in her words. "You're welcome, Grandma," I said softly, looking her straight in the eyes. Her lips turned up in the subtlest of smiles and her eyes were twinkling instead of piercing. Suddenly, I became aware that my face had reciprocated without a conscious effort on my part. "I'm glad I found you and Grandpa when I got lost."

"Hmm," she replied, and her friendly smile told me she was saying, "So are we." I turned to go into my room, but she detained me once again. "Start with the 'A's, honey. That's where you'll find 'austere'."

Some time later, I was gently awakened by the touch of fingers caressing the back of my neck. I opened my eyes and found myself slumped face-down on Grandma's dictionary where it lay opened on my desk. Rather than springing to attention, I allowed myself to wake slowly while I enjoyed the tender massage.

"Hi," I finally said after turning my head to one side and meeting my grandmother's eyes.

"Hello, honey. Had yourself a nap, eh?"

I lifted my head and, upon seeing the dictionary on the desk, remembered the task I had been given. "I guess so. I was reading, like you told me to, but I musta fell asleep."

"No, you must've fallen asleep," she corrected.

"Uh huh, fallen asleep. It was a accident. I didn't do it on purpose."

"I'm not angry, honey. Do I look angry?"

"Um, no, but sometimes it's hard to tell."

Grandma laughed and ran her fingers through my hair, slicking it into place. "Never fear, Ben, I'll always let you know when you've angered me, all right?"

"Okay." I squirmed in my seat to get my blood circulating as I noticed my behind had gone numb during my nap. As it began to prickle with life, I felt just a little residual tenderness from the spanking.

"I'm sorry I had to punish you, honey, but I did have to do it," Grandma stated resolutely.

"Yes, ma'am." I sat back gingerly and waited to see what else she had to say.

"Are you sure you understand?" she asked, taking my hand and turning me sideways in my chair to face her as she crouched before me.

"Uh huh. I was naughty and got lost and ruined my new shoe that you just bought me and you don't have a bunch of money sitting around waiting to buy new shoes with."

Grandma smiled and rubbed her thumb along my hand. "Yes, well, I think you know better than to disobey me or to boil your good shoes, but, as for getting lost, I didn't punish you for that. Anybody can get lost. It's very frightening, isn't it, honey?"

"Yeah, I was pretty scared, I guess." I didn't like to admit that I'd been scared, but my grandmother had a way of getting the truth out of me. She made me feel safe, as if I could tell her anything. "I didn't know I'd get lost, Grandma."

"Of course not, honey, but you did know you were disobeying me when you wandered from me, didn't you?"

Rather than answer that point-blank question, I opted to explain my actions. "I just wanted to look at something for a second, just a little second, but then I couldn't find you anywhere."

"Hmm, well, you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat."

"What cat?"

"The proverbial cat."

"Oh. I don't think I know that cat."

"Oh, yes, you know him very well. That cat is you, sweetheart. You were curious about something, so you disregarded my order to stay with me, and the next thing you knew, you were in trouble. You see, Ben, children are naturally very curious because everything is new to them. So if they were left alone to follow every impulse, well..." She halted, appearing to search for her words.

"They'd get killed like the cat?" I asked, rather bluntly.

Grandma hesitated, taking my hand in both of hers and rubbing it vigorously. "Or perhaps just hurt very, very, very seriously," she suggested in a very, very, very serious tone of voice. "You didn't know you'd get lost because children don't think ahead. It's their nature to explore anything that looks like it might be fun. However, it's my job to see that you don't endanger yourself, and I do that by forbidding you to do certain things that could pose a threat to your safety. And, if you go ahead and do those things, anyway, then I must see that you suffer an unpleasant consequence so you'll be less likely to disobey me again."

"I promise I won't do anything you tell me not to anymore, Grandma."

"Tell you what, why don't we just take it one day at a time, eh? I don't want you making any promises that are impossible to keep."

"But I thought you'd like it if I wasn't naughty anymore?"

"Certainly, honey, that would be wonderful. So I'm going to trust you to do your best in that department, and you can rest assured that I'll be here for you if you make a mistake."

Despite my grandmother's stated good intentions, I failed to take much comfort in her promise. Visions of her wooden spoon following behind my every questionable move for the rest of my life danced in my mind and refused to be shut away. "Golly, Grandma, I think I might like it better if you weren't there when I make a mistake."

Grandma's face contorted into amused disapproval and then she reached out her arms to me. "Come here, you," she ordered.

"What for, Grandma?"

"I want to give you something."

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise. Come here and you'll find out."

"A good surprise?"

"I plan to enjoy it."

"Gosh, it's not another spanking, is it?"

Grandma's face suddenly fell, seeming more sad than angry. "Do you deserve another spanking?"

"No. I was just kidding that I don't want you there when I make a mistake." Yes, it was a slight bending of the truth, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight.

"And have I ever spanked you for joking?"

"Uh-uh."

"Didn't I say I was going to enjoy the surprise?"

"Uh huh."

"And do you honestly believe it would make me happy to spank you?"

I hesitated, realizing what had saddened her. "No, Grandma. I guess I made a mistake."

"A mistake, eh?" We stared at each other silently for a moment until Grandma's face finally brightened, urging mine to do likewise. "All right, then. Come, now, don't keep your poor grandma waiting."

Uncertainly, I slithered off my chair and inched my way toward Grandma. Before I had time to react, I was swept into her embrace and had her loving intentions squeezed into me. Darn, but she was a strong woman!

Grandma was true to her promise. I never forgot the tanning I got that day. It didn't prove to be the only time she took the wooden spoon to me, despite my silent vow afterwards that I would never give her cause to do so again, but it did leave the biggest impression on me. The physical pain subsided quite quickly, but Grandma's resolve left a lasting sting. Discipline would be insisted upon. However, my grandmother was not the type to haul off and hit me at the drop of a hat, and I don't think she ever swatted first and asked questions later. Actually, there were plenty of times I expected a trip over her knee but didn't get it. So I knew, or at least eventually came to realize, that it did, indeed, hurt her to spank me and that she endured that sorrow on those occasions when she believed I needed her to do so.

As I sat down to lunch one day a few weeks later, I was surprised when my grandmother placed a small, brown paper package on the table in front of me, instead of the plate of food I had expected.

"What's this, Grandma?"

"It came with the post, addressed to you." She sat down at the table next to Grandpa and placed her hand over one of his, smiling when I looked questioningly at her.

I examined the package and recognized my name emblazoned in big, black lettering across the side facing up. "Ben Fraser," I read it aloud, full of wonderment. The postman was a friendly man, who always chatted with me playfully whenever I accompanied Grandma into town to pick up or send off the mail. "Mister Grossman gave this to me?" I asked.

"No, not exactly, honey. Look at the other name, in the corner," Grandma instructed.

"Corp. R. Fraser," I read slowly, unable to make sense of anything but the 'Fraser.' I wrinkled my face and looked at Grandma once again for clarification. "Who's that? I never heard of Corp. R. Fraser."

"Yes, you have, sweetie. He's your father. 'Corp.' is short for Corporal. That's your daddy's rank in the RCMP."

"What's rank?"

"I see you haven't reached the 'R's in the dictionary yet."

"Uh-uh, Grandma. Those are way in the back." I was actually kind of enjoying learning so many new words from the dictionary. But it was quite a monumental task. Especially since I also had to try to unlearn several words which Grandma declared were not appropriate for a proper young man to use. There was one word, in particular, which I had a really tough time forgetting. Naturally, I can't tell you what it was, but after Grandma had excused with a warning what she felt were a sufficient number of slips of the tongue, I was subjected to a mouth soaping that flavoured everything I ate for days afterwards. Boy, did that do the trick!

"Well, honey, you can think of a rank in the same way you think of a grade in school. You start out in the lowest grade and have to work your way up to the higher grades."

I'd never been to a school, myself, but I understood the concept. "What grade is Daddy in?"

Grandma and Grandpa chuckled. "Well, he's in one of the lower grades, but working his way up. As a matter of fact, he used to be a Constable until he was promoted to Corporal."

"Oh, so he's in the second grade?"

"Something like that, sweetheart. I'll show you a diagram of the RCMP ranking system after lunch, okay?"

"Thanks, Grandma!" I replied with an enthusiastic grin. I was eager to learn all I could about the RCMP and my father.

"Meanwhile, why don't you open that package. I believe there's something inside for you."

"From Dad?"

"That's right. From your dad."

I gazed at the package with bittersweet joy. My father hadn't forgotten me. Not entirely, anyway. He had to have been thinking of me at least long enough to write my name on the brown paper wrapping. "To: Ben Fraser, From: Corp. R. Fraser" I read again, silently, and I felt that whatever was inside the package couldn't possibly be more precious to me than that wrapping.

Very meticulously, I removed the wrapping, taking care not to rip it, especially the part upon which Dad had inscribed our names. I momentarily ignored the box that was revealed while with my hands I ironed out the wrinkles in the paper as best I could and then set it just beside the small box. Finally, it dawned on me that there was a surprise awaiting me inside the box, and I reacted just as I always did on Christmas morning -- I couldn't open the box quick enough to satisfy my fierce curiosity and excitement.

"Oh...wow...wow...cool!" I struggled to find a word strong enough to express my delight.

"'Cool', Ben?" Grandma asked, grimacing with obvious distaste for my use of the word.

"Real cool!" I affirmed, as I reached my fingers into the box and lifted out the compass. "Look, Grandma, Grandpa. It's a compass -- just like Dad's!"

"Let me see, buddy," Grandpa asked with almost as much excitement as I was feeling. He took it into the palm of his hand and studied it.

"That's wonderful, honey, but I don't believe 'cool' is an appropriate word to describe it," Grandma stated.

"Sure it is, Grandma. It says so in the dictionary."

"I doubt that very much."

"It does. Want me to show ya?"

"All right, Ben. Show me," she challenged with a smile.

I ran to my room in search of the dictionary, leaving my new compass in my grandfather's care. Just to be sure I hadn't been mistaken, before taking the book out to Grandma, I thumbed through it until I found the word in question. I had remembered correctly; it was right there in black and white. I lugged the book into the kitchen and plopped it down confidently in front of Grandma. "See, Grandma. It says right there: 'great; exc'llent'."

"Hmm, I see," she admitted. "Look, honey. You see this word before that definition?" she said, pointing it out with her finger and, with her other hand gently on my neck, pulling me closer.

I brought my face close enough to the book to read the small print and sounded out the word to which she referred. "Slang."

"That's right, slang. That definition is a slang."

I didn't know what a slang was, but it was apparent from the tone of Grandma's voice that it was not a good thing. I felt my body go numb as I feared I had just made a terrible mistake and was possibly going to pay for it with another mouthful of soap. I stepped back and looked at Grandma sheepishly. "I didn't know it was bad, Grandma. I promise I didn't."

Grandma wrapped her arm around my lower back and pulled me to her side. She looked at me over her eyeglasses, smiled, then tweaked my nose playfully. "I know you didn't, honey. It's not a bad word. It's just not proper English, and I would prefer that you use proper English. Learning a language is tough enough without confusing the process with the slang of the day. All right?"

"Okay," I agreed with a smile of relief.

"Good boy," she said as she rubbed my behind affectionately.

"Grandma?"

"Yes, honey?"

"How come it's in the dictionary if it's not real English?"

"Well, that's a very good question, Ben. Can you think of an answer?"

"Uh-uh."

"Do you remember what the dictionary said about that use of the word?"

"Yeah, it said, um, 'slang'."

"Very good, that's correct."

"But if we're not s'posed to say slang words, how come they put 'em in the dictionary?"

"The dictionary is a reference, honey. It tells us the various meanings of a word depending on how it is used, and if a word has a popular slang usage, it will often be included in the dictionary definition. Understand?"

I'm sure it was obvious from the wrinkled expression of my face that I didn't. "Uh-uh. I don't understand why I can't say 'em if the dictionary says it's okay."

Grandma sighed and ran her fingers through my hair. With a smile, she caressed my ear lobe and leaned in to say, "Because I'm the boss around here, not the dictionary. That's why. Okay?"

"Gosh, Grandma," I sulked shyly.

"Gosh, what, honey?"

"I already know you're the boss of me, but I still don't know why they make up words we're not s'posed to say."

Grandma pinched my cheek and smiled. "Go sit down and I'll bring your lunch. We'll talk more about slang later."

"You promise?"

"I promise. Never will it be said that I refused to teach a child what he wanted to learn."

"Okay." I was about to take my seat at the table but paused to address my grandmother as she worked at the counter. "Grandma?"

"Yes, honey?"

"It won't take too long, will it? Learning 'bout slangs?"

"No, I shouldn't think so. Why?" She placed my lunch on the table and indicated with a nod of her head for me to sit down, which I did.

"'Cause I wanna play with my new compass."

"Oh, this is no toy, buddy," Grandpa said, placing the compass before me on the table. "This is a precision instrument used for determining direction, such as north, south, east, and west."

"I know, Grandpa. Dad showed me his before."

"Ah, then you know how to use it, do you?"

"Kinda. I mighta forgot some of it, but if I practice I'll remember."

My grandmother leaned down to me and whispered into my ear. "I think your grandpa would enjoy helping you remember, sweetie."

I looked at Grandpa and grinned. "Can you help me practice, Grandpa?"

End The Promise by Mary: maryspen@aol.com

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