My Childrens' Childrens' Children- October 28, 2007
The above photo shows me holding my first grandchild, Dagen, less than a couple hours after his birth. I've got over a dozen spots freshly frozen on my face by a dermatologist. It seems that all those years suntanning, playing sports, swimming, water skiing, and working in the sun can add up to skin cancer, especially in blondes, redheads, or folks with blue eyes. I've learned my lesson about the sun's harmful effects; I now wear a cap or sunscreen on my face when outside for any length of time. We HAVE to learn from our mistakes. But more about that later.
I really didn't mind turning over my classroom to a much younger, new teacher when I retired. I emptied all four file cabinets, 31 years worth of teaching, into boxes which I placed on the counters of the copy room across the hall from my room. Most of the boxes contained copies of worksheets, study sheets, quizzes and tests I handmade for my students, hours, weeks, years of late night labor. I wanted the new teacher (and any remaining teachers) to have an opportunity to save loads of time by utilizing my previous work. My other choice was to cart all of it to the dumpster around back. I chose to lay it all out, my work, my career, my "soul"- if you will, on the chance someone might want it. I did this after much reflection. You see, our previous department chairwoman had retired a couple years earlier and had left nothing behind, not even an offer to come get what we wanted of hers, despite the fact she had a lifetime of nice work to offer. I guess I sort of resented her doing that, and I was determined to do the opposite.
On July 19, 2007, my lovely daughter gave birth to my first grandchild. His name is Dagan Parker Felts, son of Diane and Tate Felts, born at Outer Banks Hospital, NC. He weighed in at 7 pounds 4 ounces and was 20 inches long. Deb and I were near for the delivery, along with my ex-wife, her hubby, Tate's parents and his sister. It was a regular party! The delivery, Diane's first, went pretty smoothly. Debbie and I stayed at Tate and Diane's home for the night (along with everyone except Diane,) then revisited her and Dagan the next day before heading back home. Mommy and baby are both healthy and doing well.
It's been 3 months since then, and I've been trying to find a handle on how Dagan's birth has effected me. I look forward to spending some time with the little feller, teaching him how to fish off our dock, pulling him behind my boat on the big, inflated donut some passerby "donated" last boating season. Maybe I'll teach him to play drums or guitar, if we get to spend serious time together. Perhaps, as Jimmy Buffett sings, "teach him how to fuss, teach him how to cuss, and pull a cork out of a bottle of wine." But what I really want him to know is that life is good, full of beauty, and worth living, despite the signs to the contrary.
My brother and his wife divorced over the issue of having children. She heard her biological clock ticking down and "demanded" children. Dave was not yet ready to bring a new life into the world as he saw it. Though Dave could put Michael John, our son, on his shoulders and go trapesing off around our Virginia farm for hours, he just didn't think this world was stable enough to raise kids of his own. He tended to classify folks as either "good" or "evil." And, in his view, the evil predominated. So he went very sadly through his divorce. Keep in mind that Dave had gone through the same childhood I had: an Air Force Lt. Col. father that physically and (more importantly) emotionally abused him for his first 17 years. Nothing we did ever satisfied our father, the most judgemental, opinionated, and demanding person I have ever known. Dave, I'm sure, saw a little of our father in himself, enough to scare him away from having kids of his own. He was smart enough to know that he too could end up an abuser. Add to that a pessimistic view of life and people in it and you can easily see why Dave just wasn't ready for children at age 27.
I've spent a third of my life proving my father wrong. I'm not stupid, like he almost daily said I was. I'm not the sharpest pencil in the pack, but I did graduate from Florida State, and I did manage to get on the Dean's List a couple times. Education quickly teaches a person that if they were abused, they stand a great chance of abusing their own children. I purposely chose to not beat my children as we were beaten. I purposely chose to daily tell my children I loved them, unlike my father who never uttered those words to us. I raised my children almost the exact opposite of the way we were raised for a reason: so they wouldn't have to undergo the insecurities, lack of self-esteem, and feelings of inadequacy we had. It worked. My son is doing fine, still looking for that next great "gig" playing drums, but has a college degree in his pocket, a talented girlfriend, and a nice day job. My daughter is doing fine, too. She has her degree, a job in real estate, her license, a great husband, and a wonderful baby boy to keep her busy for awhile.
How does all this tie- in to my feelings about my first grandchild? There is hope for the future of us as individuals, families, and as a nation. There is hope even for this planet, if we do not allow it to be blown up by overzealous politicians. We have to learn from our past mistakes. Someone once said, "Those that do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it." Eveyone makes mistakes, but only a true fool keeps making the same ones. I taught that to all my English students (by way of enticing them to make corrections in their writings.) I want to teach it to my grandson, too. I guess I'm not done teaching yet.
The above photo shows me holding my first grandchild, Dagen, less than a couple hours after his birth. I've got over a dozen spots freshly frozen on my face by a dermatologist. It seems that all those years suntanning, playing sports, swimming, water skiing, and working in the sun can add up to skin cancer, especially in blondes, redheads, or folks with blue eyes. I've learned my lesson about the sun's harmful effects; I now wear a cap or sunscreen on my face when outside for any length of time. We HAVE to learn from our mistakes. But more about that later.
I really didn't mind turning over my classroom to a much younger, new teacher when I retired. I emptied all four file cabinets, 31 years worth of teaching, into boxes which I placed on the counters of the copy room across the hall from my room. Most of the boxes contained copies of worksheets, study sheets, quizzes and tests I handmade for my students, hours, weeks, years of late night labor. I wanted the new teacher (and any remaining teachers) to have an opportunity to save loads of time by utilizing my previous work. My other choice was to cart all of it to the dumpster around back. I chose to lay it all out, my work, my career, my "soul"- if you will, on the chance someone might want it. I did this after much reflection. You see, our previous department chairwoman had retired a couple years earlier and had left nothing behind, not even an offer to come get what we wanted of hers, despite the fact she had a lifetime of nice work to offer. I guess I sort of resented her doing that, and I was determined to do the opposite.
On July 19, 2007, my lovely daughter gave birth to my first grandchild. His name is Dagan Parker Felts, son of Diane and Tate Felts, born at Outer Banks Hospital, NC. He weighed in at 7 pounds 4 ounces and was 20 inches long. Deb and I were near for the delivery, along with my ex-wife, her hubby, Tate's parents and his sister. It was a regular party! The delivery, Diane's first, went pretty smoothly. Debbie and I stayed at Tate and Diane's home for the night (along with everyone except Diane,) then revisited her and Dagan the next day before heading back home. Mommy and baby are both healthy and doing well.
It's been 3 months since then, and I've been trying to find a handle on how Dagan's birth has effected me. I look forward to spending some time with the little feller, teaching him how to fish off our dock, pulling him behind my boat on the big, inflated donut some passerby "donated" last boating season. Maybe I'll teach him to play drums or guitar, if we get to spend serious time together. Perhaps, as Jimmy Buffett sings, "teach him how to fuss, teach him how to cuss, and pull a cork out of a bottle of wine." But what I really want him to know is that life is good, full of beauty, and worth living, despite the signs to the contrary.
My brother and his wife divorced over the issue of having children. She heard her biological clock ticking down and "demanded" children. Dave was not yet ready to bring a new life into the world as he saw it. Though Dave could put Michael John, our son, on his shoulders and go trapesing off around our Virginia farm for hours, he just didn't think this world was stable enough to raise kids of his own. He tended to classify folks as either "good" or "evil." And, in his view, the evil predominated. So he went very sadly through his divorce. Keep in mind that Dave had gone through the same childhood I had: an Air Force Lt. Col. father that physically and (more importantly) emotionally abused him for his first 17 years. Nothing we did ever satisfied our father, the most judgemental, opinionated, and demanding person I have ever known. Dave, I'm sure, saw a little of our father in himself, enough to scare him away from having kids of his own. He was smart enough to know that he too could end up an abuser. Add to that a pessimistic view of life and people in it and you can easily see why Dave just wasn't ready for children at age 27.
I've spent a third of my life proving my father wrong. I'm not stupid, like he almost daily said I was. I'm not the sharpest pencil in the pack, but I did graduate from Florida State, and I did manage to get on the Dean's List a couple times. Education quickly teaches a person that if they were abused, they stand a great chance of abusing their own children. I purposely chose to not beat my children as we were beaten. I purposely chose to daily tell my children I loved them, unlike my father who never uttered those words to us. I raised my children almost the exact opposite of the way we were raised for a reason: so they wouldn't have to undergo the insecurities, lack of self-esteem, and feelings of inadequacy we had. It worked. My son is doing fine, still looking for that next great "gig" playing drums, but has a college degree in his pocket, a talented girlfriend, and a nice day job. My daughter is doing fine, too. She has her degree, a job in real estate, her license, a great husband, and a wonderful baby boy to keep her busy for awhile.
How does all this tie- in to my feelings about my first grandchild? There is hope for the future of us as individuals, families, and as a nation. There is hope even for this planet, if we do not allow it to be blown up by overzealous politicians. We have to learn from our past mistakes. Someone once said, "Those that do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it." Eveyone makes mistakes, but only a true fool keeps making the same ones. I taught that to all my English students (by way of enticing them to make corrections in their writings.) I want to teach it to my grandson, too. I guess I'm not done teaching yet.
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