Dear Charlie, Tony U, and those yet to be,
September 2019
Yesterday – I suppose it could be any day – I asked myself, what have I done today? What is the worth of me? Who cares? How will the world benefit from my deeds on this day, or for any other day, for that matter? When I am gone, what will I leave behind…of value.
I have done many covert things that I am, for lack of a better word, “proud” of for their value to others. Things others might say “thank you” for, that have touched and improved lives, that can be assigned value: Peace Corps volunteer; Wildlife Refuge volunteer naturalist; Adult Literacy teacher; coach; swimming official; high school mentor; early reader assistance; a person who often stops to help, even if causes me to “smell like George;” when working as a manager I focused on equality and did my best to keep it fair, more so than most know; and I have been a friend. There are others, but I think that is not the point. The point is, of what value have I been for the other 95% of my life, and in particular, of what value am I now?
I suppose the answer to those questions should be obvious, and perhaps to many they are, but for me, it has taken many years to reach this epiphany – one I genuinely believe, be it obvious or not. I have often told myself that I am of value, but that was to get me through to tomorrow, to keep me from flailing. But now, I believe it. There is value in the things I do, in me, not made up, not just to get me through or keep me from flailing.
My value is not earth shattering – except perhaps to a few – but it is a necessary value, as deep as any act, any words. I feel a connection to life that perhaps everyone else feels, but the difference between me and many of those others is simple: I am willing to act upon it, to say it: I love.
Not so earth shattering, is it? But it is an epiphany, nonetheless. It seems funny to say, for surely there are better words than “love” …but are there? For others, maybe; for me, no, that is the right word to fit the person within me: a person who simply wants to care, to love. This is the story of how I reached that epiphany; the story of yesterday…
…where I touched no one but those closest to my life.
I held my three-month-old Tony in my arms, made funny noises and together we laughed out loud. I can think of nothing more wonderful than a baby’s first open-mouthed, wide-eyed, innocent laughs: pure, uncorrupted and truly from the heart. When you laugh with a baby, your laugh is also pure, uncorrupted and from the heart. We should all laugh with babies…and toddlers. – An epiphany.
My two-and-a-half-year-old Charlie also came to visit. As soon as he came through the door he asked, “Where is Baba?” Oh, he loves his Emmi, but Baba does more fun stuff, but there are certainly other kinds of value in Emmi. – That is not an epiphany.
He sat on my lap in my office – that same office where I sit now pondering my worth – and we watched two Thomas the Tank Engine episodes on the computer. We don’t let him have much screen time, so it is special for both him and us. A blood-pressure reducer for sure when he leans back into my chest and settles in as Ringo tells us all about Thomas and his friends.
He went pee in the potty and I let him pick out two peanut M&Ms. – you get four if you poop in the potty – he got out two for me. “You want some Baba?” Of course I do.
We brushed our teeth and shaved. No matter how hard I try, Charlie always gets a smoother shave than I; hardly any stubble at all. I just don't get it. Tony has not started shaving yet; probably next year.
Emmi made pancakes and the three of us sat around the little table in the kitchen and had pancakes, bacon, strawberries and milk while Tony snoozed.
We were going to go outside and play but it was raining, and Charlie’s mom didn’t bring his boots and raincoat. What!? Elizabeth! You live in Oregon, it’s mid-September, you think it might rain a little bit?
Charlie and I decided it was time to have a permanent raincoat and rain boots at our house for him – because his mother is Elizabeth – and I needed to get new blades for the miter saw. So, we climbed into the “big truck” and went to Target first. Emmi stayed home with Tony, who was still snoozing. He sure snoozes a lot. I guess that’s his job right now: sleep, eat, pee & poop, roll around a little bit, giggle, get cranky and take a nap. Wait! That just described my day. But I digress…
On our way out the door I asked Charlie, “where is your brain?” “ln my tummy,” he answered. That is most certainly not an epiphany, but it is something good to know. I guess a toddler’s brain is where he wants it to be. Later he told me it was in his foot. “What’s in your head?” I asked. “Nothing.” – Yep, just like his Baba.
On our way to Home Depot, we came upon a new road construction site. There was no one behind us, so I slowed way down so we could take in the excavators, bulldozers, more big trucks – “bigger than our truck, Baba!” – and other heavy machinery. Charlie and I are heavy machinery guys…unless we are looking for worms under rocks, picking flowers from the garden for Emmi, or picking blueberries, grapes or strawberries – “One for my mouth; one for the basket. Two for my mouth; one for the basket.”
By the way, Charlie has a huge vocabulary and has been able to say “excavators” since before he was two. He is, of course, a genius, just like everyone’s grandchild. And he is handsome, just like his Baba. But I digress…
At Home Depot, with Charlie driving one of those steering-wheel carts, we quickly found the miter saw blades and then turned our attention to the “just pretend, Baba” Halloween decorations. They sure do have scarier decorations than when I was a kid. Walking through the display is like walking through a real haunted house: the witch rocking in her creaky chair, eyes lit up as she asks if we want a trick or a treat. We chose the treat; giant white werewolves – “bigger than us, Baba” – moving up and down, eyes lit and fangs dripping; howling skeletal wolves; life-sized headless horseman, complete with horse and jack-o-lantern; and all kinds of little creatures sneaking in and out amongst the shoppers. Yeah, I am sure glad you were there with me: “They’re just pretend monsters, right Charlie?” “Right, Baba.”
We paid our bill and as we were leaving, someone from behind said, “Did you see that? He is so cute.” You will just have to get used to that Charlie. I tend to get that a lot, especially when I’m with you.
At Target we stopped at the shoes sections first, because I thought I knew where they kept the shoes. At the end of the isle, in a special section placed so that no one can find them, were the rainboots. I pulled you out of the cart and asked you to pick out a pair of boots. “I like these, Baba.” Red fire engine boots with little wheels painted on them. Size 8. Perfect. You sat on the floor, pulled off your fancy light-up shoes – the ones that flash on the heel when your foot hits the ground – that Nonni and Nonno got for you, and pulled the boots on. Nice job, except they were on the wrong feet. A quick exchange and a couple of runs and walks up and down the aisle. “Do they hurt?” “No.” “Do you like them?” “Yes.” “Do you want them?” “Yes.” We had boots. On to the raincoat section.
We finally found the boys clothing section under a big sign that said, “Boys Clothing.” I guess I should wear my glasses in the store. We found a cool jacket and, after twisting around a bit to get the right arm in the right sleeve, we decided that since the sleeves were dragging the ground and you tripped over them, that perhaps we were not looking in the right place. We found the toddlers – of which you are one – under the “Toddlers” sign but could only find girls clothes. “You would think they would have clothes for boy toddlers around here somewhere,” I complained.
“Over here Baba,” you said from the other side of the clothes rack. Bingo! Boy toddler clothes. How did you know that? And right in front of us was the perfect rain jacket: blue with dinosaurs and a hood. And it fit…after we rolled the sleeves up a little.
We didn’t see any big, scary, “just pretend” Halloween monsters; just little things that didn’t cause us much pause. I guess Target monsters are not for guys who drive “big trucks,” like you and me.
Your mom and dad had picked up Tony from my house. They wanted you back. You were getting tired, but not grumpy, like that grumpy old Tony and his Baba get when they are tired. But you were ready for your nap. I took you home, you ran to your daddy, who picked you up. He asked how our morning had been. I answered, “Oh, we had pancakes, and Charlie and I went shopping. Nothing special.” – Boy, was I wrong. – I got back into the big truck and waved goodbye, and you waived bye-bye from your daddy’s arms, where you belong. And I went home to Emmi, where I belong.
And today. A yucky day. Still raining. Of what value am I today? Side by side with Emmi, I'm here, the person I am supposed to be: Baba, dad, husband, friend – just in case you need me. I am valuable; I see it now: my epiphany.
Charlie and Tony, not every moment is filled with noteworthy accomplishments. In fact, most are not. But I am here, always, where I belong. And that is, to you, perhaps the greatest accomplishment of my life and, perhaps to you, earth shattering. Baba is here.
To be trite – my words are often commonplace, I fear – we are an intricate web, a web of humanity, each with a part to play. Some of us are known throughout the world, throughout history for our value to humanity and our world; others are known more locally as great people in the community; and yet others are barely known at all but to their friends and families. Most of us live in that “barely known” realm and in the large scheme of things, we are nearly invisible. But without those barely discernable threads, the whole would fall. My days may be silent, may be invisible, but without my days, the web that holds us together would be weaker. And that, I believe.
Charlie and Tony, we cannot be anyone other than the person within us. Most certainly, we can and should hone and improve that person. We can each reach for the stars, and I think we should always try to do that, wherever our stars may lie. But we should keep in mind, as my “valuable” friend once told me and I want to pass it on to you: “Rod, reach for the stars, but keep your feet on the ground.” And right now, today, you, your mother and father, Emmi, my sons and their loves are right here on the ground. I think I will stay here with you, with them, and I will be good with that, because there is nothing more important to me than you.
Love,
Baba