The Right Stuff

I recently received a phone call from a dear friend of mine.  He was lonely and hadn’t heard from me in some time.  I plead guilty to that charge. 

Being retired does not mean slowing down, that’s for sure.  I couldn’t have a job and keep my present schedule.  Now, I happily perform all the small tasks that will make life a little easier for the other members of my local family. 

The loneliness comes largely from the meager number of contacts from the children we bore and raised to thrive in this world. 

And that is what they are doing. 

When I was a young boy, my parents took me weekly to see my grandparents, my father’s parents, who lived all the way across Brooklyn from us, a half-hour ride.  They lived with my father’s brother and weekly visit always included dinner and friendly conversation, but as my grandparents aged, and I aged, conversations got harder with fewer topics in common. 

My mother’s mother, on the other hand, lived on the next block from us, and was in our lives on a daily basis.  I would stay with her after school, and she taught me many of the best lessons I ever learned in my life. 

As time marched on and I married, had children, and my grandparents passed on, it was my time to drag my children to grandma’s house.  It was easier in the early years, since my parents still lived in Brooklyn and I had set up my household on Long Island.

Then my father retired, and they had a house built on three acres in Pennsylvania.  It was now a three-hour drive, and visits were weekends in the country. 

Between working, raising children and other activities, we could not visit every weekend, and it slipped from a monthly to a six-week rotation from Friday nights to Sunday afternoons.  I would not have traded those weekends on grandpa’s “farm” for anything, where we worked in the garden, enjoyed my mother’s cooking, and drove the tractor. 

The tractor itself was a big draw.  It was only a mowing tractor that my father used to mow his three acres, but my children loved to ride it and as they grew, loved to mow the grass by themselves.  It was always fun. 

Again, time marched on.  Children grew, married and started their own families.  The weekend visits were mainly my wife and I, but we still enjoyed the visits, and encouraged our children to come with their children as often as possible. 

As we aged, my parents aged.  They eventually had to move to a full-service senior care facility, but my mother insisted on keeping the house. 

Now the visits were every two weeks, a schedule demanded by the growing grass in the warm months, and the snow removal in the cold months. 

My wife came with me when she could, but even adult children need attention from Grammy, and most times I made the journey by myself. 

Every other Saturday, just after sunrise, I would leave for Pennsylvania on my 160-mile trek with my tools, a thermos of coffee, some water and soda, and my food for the day. 

Depending on the weather and the season, I would sometimes postpone my trip for a week.  I couldn’t postpone in the grass-growing season, and sometimes after a big snowfall the visit had to be moved up to protect the house roof, but other times, my parents understood the grind and were very supportive. 

Several hours later I would arrive, and my maintenance day began.  There were always things to be fixed or painted on the house or on the land, and then there were those three acres of grass. 

Riding the tractor was not as much fun as it used to be, with a tight schedule and three acres of grass to mow.   With all the trees planted by my father, it was a hard 200×700 foot piece to trim. 

As darkness fell, I would have my dinner and take an hour nap.  Then I would visit my parents at their senior care facility that meant traveling 30 miles across the Appalachians on narrow mountain roads (very exciting in the winter and in the dark).  Sometimes I wouldn’t get there until 11pm. 

After a visit for an hour or so, the nurses would fill up my thermos and I would drive home, arriving about 3am. 

It was my pleasure to visit my parents in the twilight of their lives.  I did not begrudge the absence of my children on those visits.  If my grandchildren were older I’m sure I could have brought them, but they were very minor children at the time. 

The point of this intergenerational story is that each generation, except for us “old folks” is very busy building their own lives. 

When we are children, we are mentored by parents, and if we are lucky, our grandparents.  They taught us things that make us who we are today. 

When we are parents, we are very busy mentoring our children and receiving guidance and wisdom from our parents. 

Now as grandparents, we are the ones hopefully passing wisdom to our children, and helping to mentor our grandchildren.  

Each generation is busy with their own lives. 

I consider it unfair to demand that my children and grandchildren pay me homage through forced communication, especially in my case where I live many miles from them.   

This is a truth I know.  Each of my children and each of my grandchildren love me, and each of them has a good heart, which they will pass on to their children.  Can I ask any more? 

Distance rules.  We live very close to my younger children and my youngest grandson.  We see them more than several times a week, and I mentor them like my grandparents and parents mentored me. 

My other children and grandchildren live on Long Island, some 800 miles from Myrtle Beach.  Twice a year, I drive up and spend a long weekend with them.  And some years, my children vacation here. 

Interest rules.  Different generations have different interests.  I dated a girl early in life who was just barely of legal age when I was years older.  She had interests in music and movies foreign to mine, and it taught me not only that interests and tastes are generational, but there are also timeless and universal subjects where we all can connect. 

I have my own life and my own interests.  I will probably never fulfill the common conception of the aged grandparent, visited by younger generations for pearls of wisdom. 

My life is still unfolding.  There are many things I still want to try.  I am living my life, still learning life’s lessons.  There is a limit to mentoring, and knowing when to step back and let the student try for themselves. 

I certainly enjoy hearing from my children.  But I don’t wait.  I enjoy each day for its own sake, and know they are enjoying theirs. 

It is the way of life.