“Daddy! Daddy, watch!”
“I am, sweetheart,” I said. “You’re looking good.”
Janey, my five-year-old daughter was flinging herself back and forth on the swing set with courage I never had, pumping her skinny legs for all she was worth.
“Just be careful!” I called to her, imagining all sorts of horrors if she crashed.
Janey’s mind was not on crashing. “Wheeeeee,” she called out. Then she leaped into space while I watched, frozen to my spot, as my daughter sailed through the air, her pigtails trailing behind her. She landed expertly in the sand and executed a perfect somersault before popping to her feet in front of me. “Ta-da!” She said and ran off giggling to grab the swing and do it all over again.
We were in a small park, two blocks from our home. I glanced at my wife Lesley sitting next to me, calmly nursing our three-month-old son, Aaron. She smiled. “I like her style,” she said. Then went back to gazing lovingly at Aaron.
I grinned and turned my attention to
Janey. She was wearing pink tights and a dark blue tee shirt that said Girl
Power on it. She waved. “Come join me, Daddy!”
I waved back. “In a minute!”
I turned to Lesley and kissed the top of her head. Her short-cropped auburn hair had the aroma of the strawberry shampoo she loved. Then I kissed Aaron, reveling in the sweet scent of milk and baby powder.
Lesley mussed up my hair and pointed
to where Janey was back on the swing set, pumping her legs and soaring ever
higher. The summer sky was blue. Nearby a robin was singing. “Your daughter’s a
real daredevil,” she said.
I grinned. “Takes after her
mother.”
Lesley smiled back at me. “You got that right, Big Boy.”
Just to be clear, my name’s not Big Boy, it’s Frank. And, I have to say, I’m happy to be here.
I was wounded some years ago while fighting in Afghanistan. At the exact moment the IED exploded, I was sure I was going to die. I didn’t. I lived (obviously), however, the shrapnel messed up my leg pretty badly. I returned to the States with not only a limp but a bad attitude. I drank a lot. Did drugs. And when it came to being with women, let’s just say I was not the most fun to be around. In short, I was not a nice human being.
What changed my life were my grandparents. I began living with them when my parents divorced when I was ten years old. My dad wanted nothing to do with me, and, it turned out, neither did my mom. She left me with Grandpa Jack and Grandma Helen and took off with a boyfriend to California. I never saw her again.
They were the kindest people I’ve ever met. Grandpa worked at the local creamery and Grandma was a science teacher at the high school. The name of the town was Ester. It had a population of about five thousand and was located in southern Minnesota close to the Iowa border. It was a close-knit farming community and, at first, I fit in like a pimple on a forehead. But, I adapted. Grandma and Grandpa were patient with me, taught me right from wrong, and didn’t berate me for the many mistakes I made growing up. They had a saying for everything, one of the most common was, “You live and learn, Frank. Learn from your mistakes. That’s the main thing.” And I did. I had ample opportunity, that’s for sure.
I met Lesley at Alcoholics Anonymous and we’ve been together ever since. We were living in Minneapolis, she working as a cashier, and me for a landscaping company (we plowed driveways in the winter), when I got word that my grandparents had been in a horrific car accident. I didn’t hesitate. I hurried down to Ester to be with them and help with their recovery. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much either me or the doctors could do. After a week Grandpa died, and a few days later Grandma passed away. Her final words to me were, “Live life well, my son. Love who you love.”
Lesley was by my side when Grandma spoke those words. We married a week later.
My grandparents left their home to me. The move from our apartment in the big city to this small town was easy. A year later Janey was born. Then Aaron.
When I was growing up, before my parents split up, there was a saying my mom had on a framed piece of embroidery. It read “Home Is Where The Heart Is.” At the time, with all the issues I was subjected to by my parents, I thought the saying was a load of crap. But, later, I found out that Grandma had embroidered it. She had one up in her and Grandpa’s home when I moved in. There it took on new meaning. Eventually, with them as my parents, I realized what it truly meant.
Lesley and I work hard to keep Grandma and Grandpa’s home like it used to be. What others call “possessions” we call “keepsakes” and our home is filled with them.
I think of Grandma and Grandpa all the time. They gave me a chance at life when my parents left, and they loved me until the day they died. I’ll never forget them.
My thoughts were brought back to the present by Janey.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look at me!”
She was swinging as high as she possibly could. “Looking good!” I called to her.
She giggled. “Come swing with me, Daddy!”
I looked at Lesley. Aaron was sleeping peacefully in her arms. My wonderful wife smiled at me. “Go for it.” She nodded toward our daughter. “Have fun.”
I kissed her and used my cane to get to my feet. I limped over to join Janey. Nothing was going to stop me.
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