Hello Jack!

Photo by Adam Goodnough

I have this old habit--something I've done since elementary school--of trying to imagine or envision what the next stage of my life will be like. It's almost like I'm rehearsing the future, trying to prepare myself for what is coming my way. Those who know me best know that I am big on "being prepared." I don't like to be caught unaware. I don't usually like surprises. I like to plan ahead. I want to be ready. Of course, my preparation often falls short because life is full of surprises, whether you like them or not. But that doesn't stop me from trying: I over-plan, overpack, and overthink my way through life.  

Yet try as I might, I could not quite imagine or envision what having a grandchild would be like. As part of my preparation, I've been keeping a close eye on other grandparents for years--doing research. I was trying hard to get an emotional glimpse of what it would be like when my turn came. I saw how besotted they were with their grandchildren, how much they talked about them, how much they liked to spend time with them. I thought I understood. 

Then Baby Jack arrived, and I discovered I was completely unprepared for the tidal wave of emotion that swept over me the first time I saw him and held him. I realized my research had only taken me so far: I had understood with my head, but not with my heart. I was surprised in the best possible way. And the emotional waves just keep coming--with each visit and every photo and video. The feeling is nothing like getting knocked down by a wave in the ocean though; it's more like falling into a cloud or the softest feather bed or a clean, clear pool of calm water. Time stops for a minute, and you want to stay inside that minute forever.

And then there is the second surprise: watching your kids become parents. My son and daughter-in-law have fallen head-over-heels in love with their boy and have stepped so naturally into being parents, you'd think they'd been preparing for these roles their whole lives. My heart feels like it will burst when I watch them together. 

So I'd say young Jack has already taught his old grandmother a few things: 1) You can't be prepared for everything (but it's okay to try), 2) Surprises can be very good, and 3) The adventure is just beginning. 

Photo by Adam Goodnough

Last First Day of School

Today is my last first day of school. This is the latest the spring semester has ever begun while I've been teaching at Fredonia, and I've been glad to have the extra time to prepare--both academically and emotionally. When I first started teaching at Fredonia in 1988, I taught two sections of ENGL 100 at night as a part-time adjunct. This semester I am again teaching two classes at night as a (retired) part-time adjunct (though this semester I am teaching online instead of on campus). I find myself anticipating this last semester with equal measures of sorrow and relief. 

My decision to retire has not come quickly or easily. Walking away from a job I've loved has been tough. I spent many evenings over the summer sorting through and boxing up the books on my office shelves. I've taken down the pictures on the walls and cleaned out most of the drawers in my desk. I still have the file cabinet to tackle, and I think that will be the hardest job of all since I have files going all the way back to grad school tucked away in there. I can only do a little at a time. I read somewhere once that it's not the sorting and cleaning that takes the time, it's the memories that slow you down, and that has been very true for me. 

I know there are things I will forever miss about my job: the daytime hustle and bustle of Fenton Hall; the casual hallway and doorway conversations with my colleagues; the still of the Fenton Hall in the evening when most people have gone home; my cheerful, cluttered office; and of course, my earnest, hardworking students.

My transition from full-time to no-time has been deliberately slow. When I left my classroom last spring in the middle of March, I didn't know it would be for the last time, and somehow that made things easier. In the fall I taught a full load, but my classes and department meetings were virtual; this too added a layer of detachment from life as I've known it in Fenton Hall for more than 30 years. Now that I'm in the final stages of it all, the next chapter of my life has started to reveal itself bit by bit. 

I've always been an early riser, and that hasn't changed. I like being up while the world is still dark and quiet. I seem to do a lot of my best thinking and writing in those early hours. It's nice not to have to stop writing, working, and dreaming to shower, pack a lunch, and rush off to campus. 

I am finding that I like the slower pace of the rest of the day too. I have time to take long walks and knit and bake bread. I can read books that aren't on my syllabi. I can spend time watching multiple series on different platforms--I'm currently in the midst of The Crown, Cranford, Ted Lasso, Virgin River, and Last Tango in Halifax. 

It's not that I never had time to do any of the above before, but I always felt rushed, frazzled, or slightly guilty about wasting time. Of course, there are also many,  many household chores that have been waiting patiently (albeit dustily and messily) for my time and attention--though to be honest, I haven't expended a whole lot of energy in that direction yet. 

Slowly but surely, my well-worn identity as a college lecturer will be eclipsed by these other roles: writer, knitter, baker, reader, watcher, cleaner, organizer . . . and in an exciting plot twist: grandmother! We found out on Christmas morning that our first grandchild is on the way. He or she will arrive in August--just before a new semester starts without me. I can't imagine a better next chapter than that. 

Advice to My Son

To my sweet boy,

One month from tomorrow is your wedding day, and my heart is already brimming with emotion. I think maybe parents of grown-up children all share a strange ability: when they look at their child, they see not only the current, full-grown person that child has become but also every single version of that child—from baby to toddler to child to teen to young adult. My mind is flooded with memories of the boy you were and visions of the husband you are about to become. Because I can’t get you out of my mind, I thought I’d take this opportunity to offer you some advice on marriage. I’m not sure you really need advice from me—but when has that ever stopped me?!

1.    I remember a hot summer day when you were helping me in the yard by hauling weeds to the compost pile as I was gardening. You disappeared into the house for a while, and when you returned, you had two Tupperware cups filled with lemonade. You smiled and said, “I thought this might hit the spot.” So my first piece of advice is this: Take lemonade to Emma. Surprise her with your thoughtfulness. Show her in unexpected ways that you are thinking about her and noticing what she needs.

2.    Another memory from much later on: you, Em, and I went sledding late at night on hill behind Eagle Street school. We were having a lot of fun until I bounced off my saucer and hit my head hard on the packed snow. You were beside me in seconds, helping me up, retrieving my sled, walking me home, and checking my pupils. So that’s my second bit of advice: Always watch out for Emma’s safety and well-being. Take care of her. Protect her. Cherish her. 

3.    I still have several of the notes you left me over the years of your childhood tucked away in my dresser drawer, and I know from a snap or two Emma has sent, that you’ve carried on your note-leaving tradition with her. Keep it up! Keep leaving her sweet notes.

4.    Recently you were telling me about putting together the hammock you got as a shower gift. You were saying how much you love it, how nice it is, how you plan to take care of it and bring it in when it rains. Then you said, “At least for the first year. After that, it’ll probably be like everything else; we’ll forget and it’ll get rained on.” While that is so true for things like hammocks and so many other possessions, don’t let it be true for your marriage. Protect it like the treasure it is. Don’t take it for granted. Don’t ever stop taking care of it.

5.    This is getting long, and I know you are no fan of lengthy posts, so the rest I will put in short bullets:

·      On snowy mornings, clean off her car windows.

·      When she looks nice, notice. Then tell her. 

·      Keep making her laugh.

·      Make sure she knows that you will always take her side and be in her corner.

·      When she’s having a bad day, find a way to make it better.

·      Be as cheerful as possible as often as possible.

·      When you mess up, admit it and apologize.

·      In the long run, the little moments in a marriage matter as much or more than the big ones. So value the everydayness of your life together.

·      Be careful in arguments not to say things you can’t take back, things that will hurt—even if they are true (and especially if they are not true).

·      Working hard is important and having money makes life easier, but making a life is more important than making a living. 

·      Never, ever, ever give up on the relationship even if the going gets tough (and it will). Hang in there and fight for your happy ending.

·      Hold her hand, touch her shoulder—stay connected in big and small ways.

·      Treasure her: make sure she knows you value her, admire her, and appreciate her.

·      Tell her you love her—often.

I’m sure there are other things I could or should add. But as I said before, I think you already know how to be a good husband—just keep being the kind, loving, funny, thoughtful, protective person you’ve always been. And if you ever need advice (or anything at all), you know where to find me . . . 

We Got Her

Emma and Darton, 2012

In June of 2012, we met our son in Buffalo to pick up the family Honda he'd been driving but was now passing along to his sister. Since he had to bring two cars to Buffalo, he enlisted the help of a friend, a girl from Roberts Wesleyan named Emma. She was pretty, friendly, and polite. She was wearing white pants and very cute sandals. And there was an ease between the two of them that I liked. Although our meeting was brief on that sunny day in June, a couple of months later when we found out they were dating, we were delighted but not surprised! And the more we got to know Emma, the more we liked her.

Fast forward five-and-a-half years. Darton and Emma are still together. Emma is still pretty, friendly, and polite. There's still a lovely, just-right ease between the two of them. And Emma's shoe game remains consistently strong! I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that with every single visit, we love her more. In fact a couple of years ago, our other son said, "If they ever break up, we're just going to have to adopt Emma."

A week before Christmas we got the phone call we'd been waiting for. Darton had just proposed to his sweet Emma. None of us could stop smiling.

In the days after that happy phone call, I kept thinking of a chapter title in the book Sahara Special, by Esme Raji Codell, called "We Got Her." At the beginning of the chapter, the students in an ordinary fifth-grade classroom are waiting to meet their brand-new teacher, Madame Poitier (Miss Pointy). As the story unfolds, the students realize that as far as teachers go, they have hit the jackpot. Miss Pointy is a teacher like no other. She's the teacher they've been waiting for, the teacher who will forever change their lives. We feel the way those fictional fifth graders felt. As far as (future) daughters-in-law/sisters-in-law go, we have hit the jackpot. Emma is a girl like no other. She's the girl we've been praying for, the girl who will forever change our family. We Got Her. We Got Her. We Got Emma!

Emma and Darton, 2017

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