You just never know where it will come from, you just don't know. I'm not even her real grandfather, I'm her step-grandfather, but Sara asked me before she was born if I would consider myself her real grandfather. I was surprised, delighted, and honored – I wish I could come up with less hackneyed words, but there they are, and they are commonly used together for a reason, I think. It's like there is a syndrome of feelings that go together.
And so
it has been with Lola. I have always considered it an honor when a
child likes me. Or a dog. Why I should feel that way, I don't know,
but I think it gets communicated subliminally, because children and
dogs tend to like me. Maybe I smell OK. Or maybe I'm uninhibited
enough and fearless enough to solicit their interest, and they feel
the same way, too, that they are honored when someone wants them to
like them.
I've
worked for it, I know. I have taken care of her a lot, taken my
responsibility seriously, and known that she was a gift. And she is
adorable. Even other people outside the family say so, that she
might be something special. Of course, who knows? When I was with
Allie and his newborn, his first and likely only biological child, in
May, we rode together and he said, “You know how everyone has these
babies, and they show them to you, and you're supposed to say 'Oh
aren't they cute!' And you do say that, and they're happy, but
really, the kids are just kind of annoying? But then when you have
your own, like Tete (his new daughter), you see them and you feel
this thing for them, but you know that others must think the same
thing that you thought?”
So I
said to Allie, “Yes, but she really is cute.”
And he
turned to me even while he was driving with a look I can only call
avid, and said, “Isn't she??!! Isn't she!!”
So, you
have to be careful and just talk subjectively about your near and
dear, because objectivity is really impossible. (But, really, isn't
Lola wonderful, really???)
I
remember our sitting out on our neighbor's steps when she was two and
singing “I hear music and there's no one there!” And then we
watched the Youtube of Call Me Madame, which I actually hadn't
realized it came from. And later on we heard it somewhere and Lola
said, “Baba! That's our song!” It's those afternoons of sitting
and walking and listening to the birds and telling some stories about
the Pied Piper of Hamlin, and the story about how Lola was born
(“Baba, tell Felix about the day I was born!”) that sit in the
back of memory for a very long time and make life a good thing.
So,
yesterday was Father's Day. I don't make a big deal about it,
because my policy is not to have expectations, and anything that
comes up is a plus, and there are no minuses. We came home from The
Vault, our usual Sunday breakfast, and as usual Lola was with us,
Grandma and Baba, for the morning. This day we sat at home
comfortably and I put on some shows for her and I worked on my
computer putting together a list of opening and closing tasks for a
family member visiting our vacation house. It was quiet and nice.
But
something was happening that I wasn't aware of. And then, all of a
sudden, Lola came in and said, “Baba, come here.” What was up?
I hadn't noticed anything, I was typing. But first, she took me to
the little sunroom we have, where I have sometimes sat with her and
read her some stories, and where we sometimes have played board games
(every play Trivial Pursuit with a four year old?) on the floor.
There by the chair she had a brie sandwich she had helped make, with
lettuce and whole wheat bread, and for some reason, since I was
wearing my sneakers, she had my shoes up there on the little table by
the chair. Couldn't figure that out. It was only 11:30, but I guess
I could be ready for lunch. I can pretty much always be ready for
lunch.
Then
she said, “Baba! Come on!”
She had
taken her favorite blanket that she wraps herself in on the couch
when she is watching Paw Patrol, and she had put it over the transom
of the sun room exit to the garden. It's white and pink, but it was
pretty clearly a red carpet.
So we
walked over the transom to the outside and she had some stuff laid
out. Over to the side where “our turtle” is, a one foot ceramic
turtle she and I had bought at Orchard Garden Supply, and which now
forms part of our “turtle collection,” she had put a bottle of
Pellegrino water. She loves “bubbly water,” and we drink a lot
of it. It's a treat. An unopened bottle, sitting there by the
turtle in the garden.
And
then over in the corner of the garden near the gate she had put my
Warriors' cap. My Warriors' cap, after we had been to the
Championship Parade on Sunday with her new dad Eric, and with Peter.
And back in the house she had a grapefruit for me that she had picked off our grapefruit tree. On Friday we had picked one off the tree and each of us tasted it -- I liked it, she didn't, but she saw that I did.
And back in the house she had a grapefruit for me that she had picked off our grapefruit tree. On Friday we had picked one off the tree and each of us tasted it -- I liked it, she didn't, but she saw that I did.
What
was all this about? It turned out that on Saturday she had been to
her school friend Leo's birthday party – about eight boys and two
girls, one of which was Lola – and they had had a treasure hunt,
her first. So this was her treasure hunt for Baba.
Tell me
what a full heart is. You tell me, because I can't put it into
words.
What a
girl, what a girl.
Budd
Shenkin