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Carnett: Grandpa leaps into action when it comes to preserving memories

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Hedy and I pulled up in front of our house a couple of weekends ago, and I determined that something was amiss.

My adrenaline began to surge, and my normally humble persona morphed into a malevolent, though somewhat decrepit, Jack Reacher.

I leapt lithely from the passenger’s side of the vehicle and raced up my driveway. Our daughter, Melissa, was conducting a fairly sizable Saturday morning garage sale (she possessed a City Hall permit, by the way), and numerous strangers were browsing through items displayed in our frontyard. They were pawing merchandise and buying stuff like crazy.

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Among the items for sale were dozens of outfits that had been worn — and outgrown — by our 2-year-old grandson, Judah.

One particular item caught my eye: an orange-and-blue striped sleeper.

A strangled cry erupted from my throat. No!

Despite advancing age, a grandfather’s protective instincts can occasionally be hair-trigger. I immediately realized that I couldn’t let this sacred garment leave the premises. And certainly not for two bucks!

For me, there were just too many indelible memories attached to the fabric. Like seeing Judah rise from his mid-afternoon nap wearing the aforementioned outfit, tightly grasping his “nying-nying” (blankey), and with bed-linen indentations distorting his delicate features. Not to be ignored were the precious blond, drool-matted locks stuck to his cheek.

That’s an image guaranteed to warm the cockles of any red-blooded grandparent’s heart.

The orange-and-blue striped sleeper seemed literally to shout at me from its position on a table on the driveway: “Hey, remember me? I belonged to your grandson, Judah. He wore me at 12 months. Judah was the cutest little guy in the world … at least he had you convinced of that!”

Yes, he was. And, yes, he did.

He’s the caboose of our familial Thomas the Train of Life. Hedy and I have eight spectacularly beautiful grandchildren and he’s No. 8 in birth order. Our three daughters confidently assure us there’ll be no more.

But being eighth and our caboose by no means relegates Judah to lesser status, vis-à-vis other “rail cars” on our family’s Island of Sodor line (if you’re still following these metaphorical references, you’re way too familiar with Thomas the Train anthropomorphics).

I seized the tiny sleeper, with its snug little “footies,” from the pile and yelled, “I’ll pay for this later.”

I looked a bit like Rick Monday swooping in to rescue the American flag in Dodger Stadium’s outfield on April 25, 1976. Two dolts had charged the field, sprinkled a flammable substance on Old Glory and were struggling to ignite it.

Fortunately, they weren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer. Monday saved the day –- which happened to be a Sunday — and received a standing ovation from the crowd.

No standing O for me, but with amazing dexterity I grabbed the striped sleeper with the smiling bear cub on the chest — or is it a monkey? — and beat it to my front door. Yard shoppers cast quizzical glances as I sped by.

I slammed the door behind me, sucking oxygen like I’d just run stride for stride with the sprinter Usain Bolt.

Whew, that was close! It was easily my most impressive gambit in a fortnight.

Here’s why I employed my reach ‘n grab technique: Judah is growing up far too quickly, and this isn’t our first rodeo. We watched his oldest cousin — No. 1 grandchild, Ethan –- do the same thing.

Ethan’s going on 16. Seems like only yesterday when he wore sleepers and loved Thomas the Train. He never left the house without Skarloey in one hand and Percy in the other. Now tall, dark and handsome, he scarcely remembers his railway friends.

Judah will be there before we blink twice. That treasured orange-and-blue sleeper with its tiny footies is an objet d’amour for this grizzled grandpa.

The children entrusted to us are not ours to keep. We receive them on loan — and only for a brief time.

We don’t have the luxury of being nonchalant.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.

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