I often wonder how my parents would have embraced their adult grandsons - aside from with gusto, that is.
Mom was able to greet and know each of them shortly after they came into the world but she passed away when Alex was a year and a half, and Jeffrey was soon to turn five. My sister has two beautiful daughters, both of whom our mother knew and adored - her firstborn grandchild and her last. All four of her darlings lost Nanny from their lives much too early.
Dad was a favourite uncle to many of his nieces and nephews, friends' young children, neighbourhood kids and the many little tykes who frequented
his store. He was enchanted by children and often made it his duty to collect a smile, giggle or full-out belly laugh, mindless of anything else that might be going on at the time (like a mouthful of pablum). It's one of my saddest regrets that Dad passed away before any of his grandchildren were born.
When I look at the men that my boys have become, I know that the two of them would evoke enormous pride in both of my parents, yet there would also be pause for concern.
Jeffrey is a soldier and third year student at RMC (Royal Military College) in Kingston, Ontario. One day, all too soon, his training and education will lead him to a foreign country where, as an Officer, he will be expected to lead his men and women safely through their dangerous missions. I don't need to explain the mix of emotion.
If the adult Jeffrey were to walk into my father's store of thirty-five years ago, my Dad would give him a hearty, excited handshake which would immediately evolve into a warm hug. He'd claim him as his boy and he'd make sure that he was introduced to all of his regular customers as such. He'd be bursting with pride. Dad also had a military history during the time of the second world war, but he was never sent overseas, having developed diabetes in adulthood. He would have felt that kinship with Jeffrey and possibly a sense of satisfaction that his boy would be living out one of his dreams. He'd love the logic of Jeffrey's thoughts and the confidence with which he expresses them. He'd be proud of his achievements, and hungry to hear the stories that Jeffrey will have accumulated over the years. They might share their respective memories
under the stars.
My mother would be taken with Jeffrey's accomplishments but like her daughter, her pride would struggle with worry when she'd pause to consider what the world has in store for our boy. So she'd fuss over his hair, snip a loose thread on his uniform and ask right out loud if they feed him well and if he's dressed warmly enough. Nanny would marvel at how well-spoken he is and how he carries his smallish frame with a soldier's confidence. She'd be impressed by the wide range of weapons and strategies he has learned to employ. She'd wonder how he grew from a sweet, gentle, humourous, inquisitive, socially-conscious child into a soldier. Then she would think about it some more, and she would realize that he's still exactly that boy. She'd absorb his every word about his world views but she'd want to hold his solid body, and protect him from danger. She'd fear the day he'll be deployed. She wouldn't be alone.
Alex is a budding musician. He first laid his hands on a guitar about four years ago, and it's been as if his fingers instantly meshed with the strings. My son and his guitar will never part. He looks the role of the metal head musician, with his waist-long blonde hair and bearded chin, and his chosen uniform of jeans and black t-shirts, which display his favourite metal bands' logos. He looks exactly like the kind of customer who, if entering my Dad's store, would have made my father's radar beep. He would assume the worst about this boy. Perhaps deem him as a drug-user. "You know - the kind who buys cigarettes AND rolling papers." He might even try to shoplift something. Dad would keep a steady eye on him. But of course, that's not Alex. My Dad's grandson doesn't smoke, and I don't believe he's rolled
too many joints, and he certainly wouldn't steal. He's a bright, engaging, very funny and talented guy, and my Dad would probably chide him constantly about his "girly hair" while encouraging him to play a lick for anyone who'd listen. A sense of humour is the bridge which would connect them immediately. They share a look in their eyes which deceives their attempt to pull one over on you. At the core of both men, lies a loving, light-hearted, playful child.
Upon meeting Alex at eighteen, my mother would first be struck by how much he physically resembles his grandfather. Tall, lanky and smiling blue eyes. Her own eyes would fall to his hands and she'd remark that he has a musicians long, slender fingers. She used to say that even when he was a chubby baby. She was right. Alex acquired his musical talent from his Nanny who played piano quite well. It is her piano which now sits in my living room, and I have little doubt that one day it will find its home with Alex. Mom would love Alex's humour and marvel at his talents. He's quite artistic and that came from
her creative genes. She'd want to like his choice of music, and so she'd find a way to make it sound appealing to her, by focusing on his fancy finger work. She'd want to feed him and talk to him about his dreams, and caution him about the dangers he may encounter in the world. She'd melt in his hugs.
As I think about how my mother only knew her grandkids as very young children, and how my father never knew them at all, I realize that as a Mom of 53, my young sons may not have children of their own at a time that would allow me to know them as adults either. I would hope that one day, they would portray what they would imagine were my thoughts and feelings to my grandchildren about who they have become.
And while my boys are at it, I hope they know every day just how supremely proud I am of both of them.
Morning and late afternoon to early evening walks always bring out the best colours of the day. Below are a few photos taken during some of those walks over the past few weeks. Please click to enlarge the photos. If you use Firefox, it seems we now have to click twice - once to get the image in a separate window, then wait for the magnifying glass to appear and click again.
One gray afternoon after driving through patches of rain, a brilliant rainbow greeted us upon our arrival.
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As long as the weather remains reasonably mild, we tend to see the Great Blue Heron at some point during our morning walk. Seconds earlier, this one was on the near side of the creek, but flew across the water when Benny startled him. He immediately began preening much like a cat does with its "I meant to do that" kind of expression.
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Approaching the field on an afternoon walk, the sunlight saturated the growth around us with its golden warmth.
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Close to the creek, the colours contrast against the blue of the cool, running water.
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This tree overlooks the creek as the afternoon sun paints the landscape, resplendent with a blend of colours.
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Walking into the cedar grove, the late-day sun works its magic.
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One afternoon, the air temperature must have dropped slightly. As we walked away from the creek to go back home, we could see a fine mist beginning to form above the creek and breeze over the path.
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By the time we reached the path just a few meters away, the air was filled with this golden cloud. Here two people - one on bike and one on foot break through the haze.
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Evidently the cedars in this photo have a hidden talent. They can sing. Head on over to Frank's post "
Singing Trees" to read about it.
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