It was Monday morning and I had decided to go to our office early. At mid-morning I spoke by phone to my daughter who informed me that she was going to take her youngest children to her mother’s cottage. She wondered if I wanted to see the two boys, then 18 months and nearly three, before they departed.
The oldest child upon my arrival moved quickly to get his sandals in anticipation of an adventure. The youngest was quietly observing his brother; soon his tears demanded that he be included in the outing. He did not need to worry!
Our little adventure was to return to what I have designated as our Park; a place for this writer of so many fond memories as a father and grandfather. Today my adult kids are more likely to fire off a gentle, verbal dig by reminding their dad of their childhood pleas: “We are too old for the swings and those animals have had better days”.
The words ‘better days’ hurt the most as I reflected that like the park’s black bear of olden days, I too have seen better days.
As I set out, I realized that I am a fortunate grandpa to have a new, eager, ‘more grateful generation’ of children to mould to the joys of our family Park. So off we went with the oldest grandson identifying every farm and construction vehicle ever built by John Deere and Caterpillar. His little brother squealed and hummed to a selection of Itsy, Bitsy Spider.
We soon arrived at our destination and the ducks surrounded our car, impatiently awaiting grandpa’s liberation of their young friends from the shackles of car seats.
It was a beautiful morning, perfect temperature, and our Park was alive, as a gentle breeze spread the joyful and boisterous sounds of children, parents and grandparents creating new memories.
My oldest grandchild scurried down the winding path toward the peacocks and their rooster friends. He found them sunning themselves and preparing to entertain their little admirers. But for us this is a momentary stop along the way to our primary target, feeding the deer and the llama. What the heck is the plural for llama anyway? My oldest grandson knew the routine well. He tore at the longer strands of grass and carefully positioned each so the llama (?) that he calls camels would be satisfied.
The feeding exercise is always a little unnerving, even for an experienced grandpa. My daughter- for an unintended outcome- could revoke my day pass with the little ones i.e., animal teeth marks on my grandson’s feeding hand would likely lead to a cancellation of future outings.
Mothers can be terribly protective!
These outings have a certain rhythm. Our yellow brick path always includes visiting our different friends- the miniature horses, goats and of course the fishpond. The return of the piglets this day provided an additional, scented delight as our path soon turned in front of the well-stocked, mini pond and waterfall.
Soon it was time to retrace our steps with warm farewells to each of our animal friends. I was in particularly good spirits because we had escaped a reprimand from the young park staff for feeding the llama/camels. In the past if the staff catches us, I always point at my young companion with the grass/feed in his hand as the culprit. They are rarely persuaded though and are intent on holding the gray-haired kid responsible. I suspect they figured out that I am the only kid old enough to read the posted signs.
DON’T FEED THE LLAMA
sometimes known as CAMELS.
To celebrate a joyful outing, I decided that ice cream was a necessary reward. We soon became three spoons competing selfishly for more than our share of a giant mound of vanilla ice cream. Finding the target for each spoonful seemed less important to the combatants than securing the biggest payload. Soon the giant mound was reduced to a few melted drops to be licked from the container. I leave the rest to your imagination.
It was time for the short trip home. As I secured the little ones into their seats, I remembered being so grateful for such a joyful experience, a gift that was not a certainty in our family’s life.
I was reminded of that truth as I initiated our departure toward our Park’s ring road. Passing in front of me were two, old friends. They are wonderful and loving parents and grandparents; yet they were pushed aside- made invisible grandparents by the family, separating process in this country.
The riches of my day embarrassed me at that moment.
As we approached the children’s home, I remembered wavering on whether to reveal that illegal, pre-lunch, celebratory ice cream thing to my daughter. I realized that secrecy was unavailable when I spotted grandpa’s post ice cream cleanup had failed miserably.
The children ran to their mom’s open arms with wide smiles and evidence on their jerseys of their outing with grandpa. I knew from my daughter’s half smile that she was recalling her childhood outings many years earlier to our same family Park …and that vanilla ice cream was occasionally… well o.k. always dad’s way to conclude a wonderful adventure.
Father’s Day is about celebrating a dad’s love for their child and their child’s child which endures forever in every family form. That love should be cherished and valued every day. That is the only gift desired by the dads who have been inspirational in my life.
Have a joyful Father’s Day!
Kids 'n' Dad 