Dear Abby
In the process of reading through my 2008 blogs the
first thing I have to decide is what would be worth any one else reading. This, first published on the Brazil
(Note to Abigale: "Dear Abby" is a play on words you are not old enough to appreciate.)
(Note to Abigale: "Dear Abby" is a play on words you are not old enough to appreciate.)
Dear Abby, I Love You
Long, long ago when I was in
the sixth grade there was a boy in our class named Dennis. He was a nice enough kid as I remember, but
what I remember mostly is that there was a rumor about him that his parents
were divorced. I don’t think I really
knew what that meant. I had a friend
whose father had died when my friend was seven. And I had met a boy whose father had been
killed in The War. But divorce was
something I had to ask my parents about.
Dennis was okay, I was assured, it was probably not his fault his
parents were, well, divorced.
Kay and I seemed to have done
all right. We will soon be married
forty-four years [now going of 54], have five married children who seem to be
as happy as this life affords. The only
thing I ever wanted in life was to love my children and hopefully know they
knew I loved each of them. As
grandchildren came, I more-or-less approached these new additions to our family
with the same want and hope.
The best years for grandkids
are before they are five, when they still believe any silly thing granddaddy
says. As they grow up they catch on to
when granddaddy is teasing, and they somehow learn that the only excuse for
keeping a granddaddy at all is to have someone extra whose only job is to love
them.
About a year ago eight year
old Abigale came into our life as ninth grandchild. She was part of the package we got when “I”
picked out Steve as the best possible man for our only daughter. I suppose this makes us one of those
“blended” families with which I have no practical experience. At the wedding Abby said she wasn’t sure what
to call me. She apparently already had both a grandfather and a grandpa. Since she didn’t have a granddaddy, I
volunteered for the job (I’ve always preferred granddaddy, anyhow).
"Abby" is a bright, “busy” child
who has perfected the art of bugging her daddy (a very necessary ingredient in
daddy training). My problem is she didn’t have the marvelous opportunity to
know me for those previous eight years.
The sad result being she doesn’t get my weird, obtuse humor. So I never
know if she knows when I’m teasing; nor am I sure she understands I only tease
people I love. Loving Abigale is a most
natural thing for me; it’s what she generates in me and who I am. I
guess I just selfishly want to know that she knows that I love her.
When our daughter, Susan, was
in grade school she reported one day she was the only one in her class with no
“steps” – no stepsisters, stepbrothers, nothing. The world had changed a lot since my grade
school days. I don’t know whether or not it has changed for the better, but I
shall try hard to change with it.
Granddaddy
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