The merry-go-round has slowed to a halt. It’s Wednesday…and everyone’s gone.
Living five hundred miles west and three hundred miles east of children means missing things…from Max at his favorite deli to Stacy in her brand new office. Just the way it is. That being noted, it would be cheating history not to acknowedge equally important premieres: like my grandson’s first Baggage Claim area, for example. I WAS THERE!!! (Perhaps that’s getting ahead of the story).
H led Seder last night. It was the perfect ending to an at-times perfect weekend. Clearly on his game, skillfully—elegantly—he included everyone in a just mix of learning, legacy and laughter. As such, after nearly five days of non-stop activity, I slumped on Aldersgate, exhausted, content, and recalling the comment of the speaker at Woody’s funeral: it’s only in the evening that one can truly see how beautiful the day has been.
This weekend, this extended weekend, was indeed beautiful. The headliner was, of course, Max. Sprinkle in four kids, three trips to the airport, two dinners with the ex, 1 family brunch and Rolo’s carseat: it was all there. And, again, I would deny history not to say so.
Airport I came Friday. Racing west on the phone with Ermine we spoke both past and future. Laughing of the time I took a date to the cemetery, more importantly, we pointed to to this fall’s reunion. Like Wieder, Mark’s on board.
I arrived at Hopkins early and poached in wait. The call finally came:
“Last door, Dad.”
Zooming down the ramp, double-parking, entering, I saw mom and child. From a distance, though, came a voice:
“Nice outfit, Dad,” (MichaelSpeak for “I love you but you dress like an idiot.”
Background music at best, I sensed, both eyes being on the prince.
Airport II was Saturday. Stace and Jace bounded out happy to see me, but eager for the baby. I get it.
‘Twas was a hectic weekend, all tolled:
There were poignancies (like the fact that they once said it would take an act of God for the ex and I to dine together, and what was a grandchild if not just that?).
And there were contradictions: The kids dined as a foursome one night. Later describing the bad service, one said “It all changed when Josh walked in. It was like he was Tony Soprano.” Hours later, conversation shifted, we we spoke of an ex-friend owing me money.
“Do you think his wife knows?” asked the same child.
“She’s like Carmella Soprano,” remarked I.
“Enough with the TV characters, Dad.”
More than anything else, though, it was a weekend of love. From Caroline’s Cancer Walk Friday at Case, to the epic debate on Sunday’s dinner menu…to the family brunch on Sunday…
To Harriet traipsing in with Matt from Columbus…to playing in the park on swings…to watching Max P bathe…
It was a time, of course, to count my blessings…and a time to wonder:
As kids we’d go on rides at Euclid Beach. The Flying Turns, The Flying Butterfly, the carousels! Watching Max, I thought, was like the carousel.
I remember how we’d circle, round and round. Outside the gate, along the perimeter would be our parents. They’d be staring from afar—right at us—but did they see us? Could they pick us out?
Last weekend it was Max. Looked right at me, he did. Stared. Two feet away, gurgling, smiling, staring. I wonder: does he know me? At all? Will he pick up scent? Can he depict voices? Are we all the same? What is he really thinking as his fingers grip my thumb?
My parents always saw –even from afar. “Hold on to the pole,” they’d shry!
We bid adieu on Monday—the kid and I. And so it was.
Airport III came early…Tuesday. It was Bones out to Hopkins bright and early. The 3M went later, and even later went Rooney. She’s OUR baby, you know, and like my parents, sees me from afar.
“Put on your seatbelt,” she shries.
🙂