While Jonas watched, the people began one by one to untie the ribbons on the packages,
to unwrap the bright papers, open the boxes and reveal toys and clothing and books.
There were cries of delight. They hugged one another. The small child went and sat on the lap of the old woman,
and she rocked him and rubbed her cheek against his.
Jonas opened his eyes and lay contentedly on the bed, still luxuriating in the warm and comforting memory.
It had all been there, all the things he had learned to treasure.
“What did you perceive?” The Giver asked. “Warmth,” Jonas replied, “and happiness. And—let me think. Family.
That it was a celebration of some sort, a holiday. And something else—I can’t quite get the word for it.”
“It will come to you.” “Who were the old people? Why were they there?”
It had puzzled Jonas, seeing them in the room. The Old of the community did not ever leave their special place,
the House of the Old, where they were so well cared for and respected.
“They were called Grandparents.” “Grandparents?” “Grandparents. It meant parents-of-the-parents, long ago.”
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