I could hardly wait! My wife and I like to entertain. Hosting energizes us. Guests are a common “enemy” we work together to “vanquish.” I’m overstating it but you get the point. Imagine how excited we were preparing for our recent houseguests, Rider and his parents. It was a thrill to see the three of them walking to our door. Rider looked somehow different outside his usual context in a Brooklyn apartment and neighborhood. Since I’m the one of the three of us who sees him the least, they directly handed him to me. I always love holding and seeing the child, but in this context I did both with greater pleasure then usual. Welcome, grandson, to grandma and grandpa’s house!
It’s quite the logistical feat traveling with a baby. I had almost forgotten what it was like. It starts like this. A young man marries and it feels like the amount of stuff in his life increases exponentially, let’s say by a power of two. More clothes, more shoes, toiletries and make up and a whole raft of female bric-a-brac arrive with the bride. I’m not complaining. I love living with my wife and no amount of extra luggage will change that (I’ve come to learn my dearest travels a lot lighter than many of her female compatriots).
Just when the guy gets used to the extra accoutrements he becomes a father. Possessions increase exponentially again, this time by a power of three. I helped my son, Rider’s father, lug in the extensive Rider Support Gear: sleeping basket, diaper bag, bags of toys, bags of clothes, bags of diaper-related supplies, a stroller, and what seemed like half a dozen more backpacks, sacks, suitcases and containers, several with pastel flowers and other babyish decor. We gave the visiting young family our room, mostly because that’s where new parents stay with their baby, but also, as a Baby Thing Repository.
That evening, my wife played the piano for us. We couldn’t help noticing how instantly and constantly fascinated Rider was with it. He seemed entranced by the music and maybe by the movement of hands on a keyboard. Up until the music started he was getting a little fussy, probably tired and getting ready for sleep. The music, however, instantly focused him and held his interest for a surprisingly long bit of time. Of course, grandparents and parents alike see a baby’s natural strong response to something, like with Rider at this moment, and we begin to ask, will he be a musician? Will he be a pianist? The next Horowitz? Van Cliburn?
Future concert pianiast?
The next morning, I took Rider for a walk around our apartment complex. I like visiting Brooklyn and walking him on streets of interesting rows of houses made of brown stone, but I preferred the relative peace and smoother sidewalks of where we live. Our apartment complex sits near a small stream that widens into what looks like a large pond just before it passes under a quaint stone bridge and meets the Potomac River. One of the things we like about where we live is that it feels riverfront-cozy. I was a proud and happy grandpa that morning, pushing my grandson in his stroller around our nice neighborhood. I was diappointed no one else was out walking just then. I had hoped to pass fellow residents who I imagined would certainly be thinking as they passed me, “What’s he doing with a baby? He seems maybe a little old to be the father, but certainly way too young to be the grandfather.” But no one else was out. Really, I didn’t care. It was more than enough to spend time with Rider.
At the end of our walk, back at the apartment, we walked by the Lorelei, the one of my three gardens located in our front yard. Juxtaposing my dear grandson with one of my lifelong loves, a garden, made for a lovely picture. I snapped a few of Rider by okra plants towering above him. The scene reminded me of a song from my childhood which I adjusted slightly to fit the moment: “I’m a lonely little petunia in an okra patch…!”
I'm a lonely little petunia in an okra patch
Rider’s visit took me back to the many, many times I spent the night with one or the other of my grandmothers. I remember enjoying spending time with whichever one I was visiting at that moment. We ate meals together, read, watched t.v., talked. My memories of those times with my grandmothers are precious to me. Rider is obviously too young to spend the night on his own with his grandparents. That won’t happen for a few years. This visit whetted my appettite for when the time comes. I’m looking forward to that day. Maybe then, Rider will be playing the piano and grandma can give him some lessons. Maybe then, Rider can pull weeds and pick tomatoes in the garden with grandpa. Then we’ll go in, wash up, get some lemonade and sit and read a book together. I really can’t wait.
