Sugary Hands

The old man thought about that long ago, of working and being innocent. Even as a child, he'd always had a job. Some of his most fond memories were of delivering breakfast to his grandfather out in the sugar cane fields. A thermos in hand, filled with the darkest coffee. Alongside it, a tin lunchbox containing his hero's lunch. The grandson always found the tall, brawny man, filthy and soaking in sweat from the long hours under the blistering sun. The hours were indeed long, and the scathing manual labor was not for the weak. But, to his grandfather, moments like those spent with his grandson made it all worth it.
As like any other day, the man would sit the young boy on a tree trunk beside him and curiously rummaged through the packed contents. On this particular day, a large sized cut off a loaf of bread neatly waited at the bottom of the box. The crusty loaf was crammed with deli meat, yellow cheese, tomatoes and a few slices of avocado. Olive oil dripped slowly off the showy lettuce, as the man ripped half off with his sugary hands. The grandfather handed the boy one of the hearty halves without even glancing to the side. Together, they sat sharing the sandwich and drinking black coffee out of a tin cap. The man would spend this precious time telling the boy stories. Some old, and plenty new. His grandchild would intently watch-on and listen without interruption.
Now present time, and at his old age, that grandson longed for those simple moments. Wishing there would have been more. Now an old man, he remembered going to school back then, toting around a sack that held a few books. With much wonder, he'd sit in a classroom with just a handful of students, learning about all the things a child should learn about. And like on his visits with his grandfather, he'd sit at the edge of his seat, being careful not to miss anything.