This past Monday I mowed my son's yard. Not a big deal. In fact, the yard is pretty small compared to some that I have mowed in the past. This is not the norm. He takes good care of his own yard. But he and my D-i-L had our fourth grandchild on Saturday and had just brought the boy home. They were worn out, and needed as much rest as possible. Besides, I am next to useless when it comes to new babies, new moms, and new grandmoms. They use a different language from lactation coaches to transition to colostrum (sp.) No idea, nada. So what can I do to help? I KNOW how to mow a yard, I love to run errands, so I find things to do to help.
It was beginning to cloud up, so I got busy as quickly as I could. Halfway through mowing a very vivid memory jumped into my head. When this same son was born to me, we were living in Dallas, I was working for Westinghouse Credit. Those were the days when big corporations tended to pay very little. It was also the summer ('80) when we had 100+ days of 100 degrees. It was also that summer that I took on a number of yards to help make ends meet. Nearly every evening I would stop on the way home, mow a yard, pack up, then head to the house, $20-25 richer. I would also mow a couple of yards on Saturday. I was very tan, and in pretty good shape for a guy who analyzed data all day for the branch locations in the south/southwest. I was a little younger than my son is now.
So here is the memory. When Ben was born on June 4, I moved a couple of those yards aside to be in the delivery room. Back then we were called "coaches" which is a little of a misnomer. First of all, most coaches have played the game...not these coaches, we not only never played, we never even suited up..and never will. Secondly, the event was going to play out with us or without us. Telling your bride, who is going through incredible to pain and anxiety, to "breath" is a sure way to get into a conversation that you are not only going to lose, but likely will not survive. I have the distinct impression that the entire delivery staff is covertly rolling their eyes as we dad's try to coach. Really? They are huffing and puffing, straining and hurting, and the best we can come up with is...breath. "You breath, you sorry @#$%^&, you're the one that got me into this!!"
Anyhoo, the next day I had a couple of yards to catch up on, but I desperately wanted to be with my bride and our new son. My folks had come in to see their newest grandbaby, and I mentioned to my dad that I was feeling torn about where I needed to be. Back in those days my dad always traveled with his "work clothes" a set of coveralls. So he said he would help. We showed up at the first house and he mowed while I edged. My memory of him in those light green coveralls, cap on his head, marching along behind that mower at high speed is still a strong memory for me. We knocked out those yards in no time and were back in the hospital in only a couple of hours. Over the next few days he would install a window unit in our little rent house, fix a commode that wasn't flushing quite right, and yes, run numerous errands.
Remember that this guy was a doctor, an optometrist. I'm sure he never even considered that the folks whose yards he was mowing were at least equals in social standing. He didn't care about his standing or theirs, he cared about his son and his grandson. He simply wanted to help and did so in the way he knew best. They call me "little Grady" I think because we look similar. But some of it is our nature. I hope so. I stopped mowing for a moment and realized that my dad had taught me well. He never lectured, he never "expected" anything. He simply stepped in to help, with good humor, and a mild touch. The lessons we learn are more caught than taught, but they run deep in our souls and nature.
The words to the hits from my youth, " teach your children well" We all do, one way or the other.
Godspeed to all out there who are reaping the rewards of parenthood...grandkids.
Don
No comments:
Post a Comment