California Time

I went to California. I stayed long enough to have my eleven-year-old grandsons come to regard me as part of the furniture. I liked this an awful lot – that each of them at varying times would drape one leg over mine while we watched TV. Baseball, mostly, and then football.

They have been hello and goodbye hug boys, occasionally tolerating a random extra hug but neither of them ever relaxing into me like they did this time. I attribute that to appearing as if I had no more important place to be. And, also, to not asking them for anything.

I noticed at my daughter’s house that affection is intentional and effortless at the same time. I watched one son absentmindedly kiss his father’s hand. His dad had no reaction as if this happens all the time – this waving of sea grass in the breeze off the ocean. The kiss made me remember my father hugging me goodbye at the front door of his house after my mother died. I was 52. It was one of probably a handful of dad hugs in my life but the only one I remember. I never kissed his hands, though I admired them. And could describe them in detail if you asked.

I have been a stiff customer with my own kids. This came home to me as we sat in church – my daughter, one of her sons, and me. She held hands with her boy. They settled into the place, the cathedral, the singing, and the readings, and each other. Sometimes, my grandson would elbow me ever so gently and I would elbow him back like we had a secret language or joke. Somehow, we were all gliding in the same boat on a glasslike pond. I wish I had been like this when my children were little. Easy. Relaxing into them. Holding their hands when we weren’t crossing the street.

I have a son who, until he became an adult, would walk with one hand on my shoulder. And another that will give me a bear hug and tell me that he loves me when he leaves after dinner which, at first, seemed so peculiar, so out of my experience, that I marveled that he would say this to me out loud. Now, I am used to it. And pretty grateful. I remember these things after being at my daughter’s house. Maybe I’m not such a stiff customer.

That’s what I brought home from California.