My Clever Grandfather

There is a commercial for a Lincoln SUV featuring Matthew McConaughey that starts with him setting the temperature in the SUV at 78 and then going out onto a frozen lake and cutting a hole in the ice to fish through. He sets up a gadget with a pole and then opens the back of the SUV to sit just inside on the tailgate. Quickly there is a flag on the pole on the ice that pops up indicating that there is a fish on the line. All of this happens while The Andy Griffith Show theme song whistles in the background.

Clever yes. But so was the system my grandfather used for fishing. Grandpa was no slouch. He worked in his garden and out in the yard at the house my parents had on Lake Erie where he stayed most of the year. He would take his fishing pole to the dock and cast the baited hook and line out into the water. He would then secure the handle of the fishing pole into a pipe he had affixed to the dock so that the pole would stand up. At the top of the pole, just where the line came through the last eye on the pole, he would tie a piece of ribbon to the line.

As Grandpa went about his work in the yard, he would keep an eye on that ribbon. If the ribbon was pulled down, he knew he had a bite and maybe even a fish hooked on his line. With a big grin on his face he would reel in either a nice perch or bass or he would mumble something about a fish who'd stole his bait--often in his native Bohemian.

Fond memories. Not only might we enjoy his catch which he often smoked in the little smokehouse he built but we'd have some nice veggies to go with it as well.

Remembering My Modern Dance Moment

It will be more than 50 years this June since I graduated from high school. Somewhere in my freshman year (that would have been the first year in high school--before the middle school concept), the Phys Ed. teacher decided to have a unit on modern dance. To this day, I still do not understand what that had to do with my physical education. It should have taken place in a music class--one that I'd never take.

I don't want to appear to brag, but I was good in gym class. I played a good game of basketball, could hit well in softball, and would have loved to have gone on to Olympic training in gymnastics--I even made the cheerleading squad in junior high. I was too shy to make it in high school. And then she threw this modern dance unit at us. We had to pick out a piece of music and interpret it in some kind of physcial movements. Not all of us had dance lessons. I'd had them but that was when I was 4 or 5 years old. Obviously no one saw anything in me then to encourage my mother to continue with them.

There was a piece of music on one of my LPs that sounded like a busy person so I decided to imagine a secretary at work. I bustled around on an excercise mat, did a couple somersaults, squated as though I were sitting at a typerwriter, and, in general, felt like I had made a real fool of myself. I can't remember my grade. I didn't care what it was. I just wanted it over with.

We went to see Movin' Out, the musical, a few years ago. It is Billy Joel's music arranged into a story about coming of age during the 60s-80s. While the musicians sit above the stage in the background, there is a troupe of extremely talented and energetic dancers who, through dance only, portray the action. It didn't take but a minute for me to recognize that there before me, in much better looking costumes than yellow gym suits, was the modern dance unit from my past. There were a few elements of ballet thrown in, but other than that, the physical movements, the gymnastics, the portrayal of anger, grief, etc., through the movements on stage, were right out of that gym class.

So, 50+ years later, I finally get it. I wasn't so far off back then. I should go back and get take a look at that grade. I'm sure it should have been better than it was.

Heroes In Mouse World

[Anticipating another trip to Disney, I thought I would repost this memory from 2005]

We just spent the week visiting the Mouse in Orlando. There were 15 family members on the last leg of the trip aboard the Disney Cruise ship the Wonder. Our niece is one of the entertainment crew members and we were there to support, cajole, and generally let her know she's loved as well as enjoy our granddaughter's first trip to the World and the Wonder.

Throughout the World and the Wonder little girls of all ages are addressed as "princess" and most wear the costumes of Snow White, Cinderella, Belle, Sleepting Beauty, etc. They stand in line with their parents (or are carried if they don't walk yet) to garner a signature from the Disney characters. The Princess characters, however, are the main attraction. What little girl doesn't dream of being a princess?

All of this seems a little one sided to me. Where are the male heroes? The ones who rescued all those princesses? Why aren't we promoting them with costumes and signature books? Well upon examination, I realized that most little boys would not dress to look like Peter Pan, Prince Charming, or even Mr. Incredible (that would require tights). Moreover, their fathers would not let them dress that way.

Finally, in my search for heros and heroines, I found they wore costumes made of everyday stuff--jeans, shorts, T-shirts. They were the ones who took a vacation with the family and found themselves exhausted from giving their kids the best time they could in a world of fantasy and dreams. One father commented on the bus to the airport, "It was great. I'm tired. But it was worth it."

And it is.

We watched our child play with his child and become a child again. He exchanged memories with his brother of long-ago vacations as children. Who would have imagined that what we did in the moment to entertain and please them as children would have lasted as fond remembrances of shared experiences? It almost made me feel like a princess again as I walked next to Mr. Incredible (in jeans, not tights).

How Do You Hug A Six Foot Teenager?

The date on this essay is 1986. The son I wrote about is now 40+ and is facing the beginning of the teenage years with his son. I smiled when I found this as I was cleaning out old files. My grandson is eyeball to eyeball with his mom and won't be long before dad probably finds himself there as well.

HOW DO YOU HUG A SIX-FOOT TEENAGER?

When did it happen? My nineteen-inch baby suddenly grew to seventy-two inches. Sixteen years doesn’t seem like such a long time now. I wonder. Will it take me another sixteen to get used to this new size?

I smile as I remember my 5’3” mother coping with a 6’1” teenager—my brother. We had three steps up to the kitchen from the side door entryway. When she needed to emphasize her authority as the parent, she would catch him before he got up the stairs, blocking his path in the narrow door until he understood the message.

I have no steps so I need to find other creative ways of dealing with our new size difference. I’m a little taller than my mother but I still get a crick in my neck standing next to my son while talking to him.

In his book, “How to Love Your Teen,” (Campbell?) emphasizes the importance of eye contact with your children. Establishing eye contact is probably the most important way of seeing the love. It shows in another’s eyes. I want to be sure he sees that love in mine so I try to find ways of being “eyeball to eyeball” whenever I can.

Touching is another important part of parenting. A loving touch expresses warmth and concern that words could never reveal. Head patting does tend to go out of style as they begin to stretch skyward, but a hand placed fondly on the arm adds the emphasis of concern and love and brings even greater attention to what you are saying.

Touching a teen can bring an unexpected response in a parent also. In a moment of pride for an idea my son expresses, I reached up to cup his face in my hands and tell him how wonderful I thought his idea was. As my hands touched his face, my words were lost in confusion. My hands were touching the face of an adult male with a “three o’clock” shadow not the baby soft skin I remembered.

A bumper sticker proclaiming “Give hugs, not drugs” made me realize that the taller my son was getting, the less I was hugging. But, then, how do you hug a six-foot teenager?

I started a hugging campaign. “Ron, I love you,” I said when he came home from school that afternoon reaching out to stop him for a hug. Awkwardly, he bent over to hug me and I felt myself going on tiptoes to reach his neck.

Next I tried the old “sit next to him on the couch” approach to sneak a hug. That seemed to work a little better. He didn’t have to bend over so far.

I found a one-arm technique around his middle worked pretty well. But, somehow, it didn’t seem to convey the kind of affection we once expressed when he was able to climb up on my lap, wrap his arms around my neck and put his head on my shoulder as I embraced him in a full bear hug.

The little boy is still there inside the body of the man he is becoming. I hope a part of him will always remain. I hope the man will never outgrow the need for hugs. I know his parents won’t.

How do you hug a six-foot teenager? I’m not sure. I just know you do.