One thing I hadn't fully expected was the love affair between my father and my infant son.
Joshua is a charmer; he loves everyone. But my father is more reserved. That's why it's a surprise--repeatedly--to hear my father's audible gasp when Josh pops up on the FaceTime screen.
Then it's as if everyone but Joshua disappears. As various adults chat and chat about, say, Linda Ronstadt's current health, or the drama surrounding a night nurse, my father fixates on his grandson. Sometimes, he forgets to pretend that he knows an adult conversation is occurring, and he begins making a shrill whistle sound, to get Joshua's attention.
At other times, my father's dry humor comes out. I notice this right away; I'm not sure everyone sees it.
My father, on his grandson's upcoming visit to Buffalo: "I'm making arrangements for the Mandarin tutor....."
My father, on whether he will part with Joshua after the Buffalo visit: "That's actually Joshua's decision. We'll see how he feels after he tries a chicken wing."
Listening to my dad, I recall how he would tuck me in each night, in my own early childhood. I had a beat-up Mickey Mouse doll, and my dad would say, "Ready to see Mickey?" This seemed like genius to me, because it was the politics of euphemism: It put the focus not on the unpleasant reality of having to go to sleep, but instead on the party I could have with my Mickey doll.
My dad thinks chatting with your baby is important, so I tell Joshua about how to make panko-crusted chicken, how to soothe a beleaguered repairman, how to choose a Christmas present for the neighbor. These count as my skills--such as they are.
Often, weirdly, the kid seems to listen.
And that's what is happening at 16 Walnut.
Joshua is a charmer; he loves everyone. But my father is more reserved. That's why it's a surprise--repeatedly--to hear my father's audible gasp when Josh pops up on the FaceTime screen.
Then it's as if everyone but Joshua disappears. As various adults chat and chat about, say, Linda Ronstadt's current health, or the drama surrounding a night nurse, my father fixates on his grandson. Sometimes, he forgets to pretend that he knows an adult conversation is occurring, and he begins making a shrill whistle sound, to get Joshua's attention.
At other times, my father's dry humor comes out. I notice this right away; I'm not sure everyone sees it.
My father, on his grandson's upcoming visit to Buffalo: "I'm making arrangements for the Mandarin tutor....."
My father, on whether he will part with Joshua after the Buffalo visit: "That's actually Joshua's decision. We'll see how he feels after he tries a chicken wing."
Listening to my dad, I recall how he would tuck me in each night, in my own early childhood. I had a beat-up Mickey Mouse doll, and my dad would say, "Ready to see Mickey?" This seemed like genius to me, because it was the politics of euphemism: It put the focus not on the unpleasant reality of having to go to sleep, but instead on the party I could have with my Mickey doll.
My dad thinks chatting with your baby is important, so I tell Joshua about how to make panko-crusted chicken, how to soothe a beleaguered repairman, how to choose a Christmas present for the neighbor. These count as my skills--such as they are.
Often, weirdly, the kid seems to listen.
And that's what is happening at 16 Walnut.
This is a sweet photo!
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