Discoveries

July 2006Some years ago I made a commitment to my grandchildren that the summer each one is nine I will take him or her on some kind of an expedition. I’ve recently returned from a week’s intergenerational Elderhostel in the Black Hills with Brannon, Peter and Katy’s middle boy. We drove 3,000 miles, not including bumping hundreds of miles around mountains and plains in a school bus during the program. We saw all the expected attractions—the Badlands, the Needles Highway, Mount Rushmore, Devil’s Tower, Jewel Cave—and many unexpected ones. We hunted fossils and rocks and wildflowers, watched mammoth bones being dug up, saw dinosaur foot prints in the middle of a cattle ranch. Scouring the dusty ranch, Brannon even found his own personal dinosaur bone. And he and I, who ordinarily see one another only two or three times a year, deepened our knowledge of one another.He discovered that I can be impatient and even sharply angry. I found that he can be stubbornly unwilling to obey any directive he doesn’t see a good reason for. (And “because I want you to” is definitely not a good reason.)He found that I can get lost in the most straightforward physical situations. I found that he can read a map better than I can. He found that I can give straight, unencumbered answers to deep questions. I found that he can absorb information on a wide array of topics and give it back later with fluency and complete accuracy. I found that he loves a good story. He found that I can tell one.I discovered that Brannon can whine about the heat with an intensity that would suggest the sun shines exclusively on him. He can also be utterly uncomplaining. (He broke his wrist in an accident on—or rather suddenly off—his cousin’s bike just before we left, and he never once so much as mentioned the nuisance of the cast and the disabled arm or being unable to swim with the other kids every evening.) I also discovered his generosity. I gave him twenty dollars at the beginning of the week, and he used half of it to buy gifts for his two brothers . . . and never asked for another cent.The last evening, I tucked him in and sat down to recite the long list of traits that—despite our occasional head bumping—I liked and admired about him. I ended by telling him how much of his daddy I could see in him. “Your daddy was my little boy,” I said, “and I’m so very sad—as you are—that we’re losing him. But I see you and know I’ll always have some of the best parts of your daddy, because I’ll have you.”Brannon was one happy boy when I delivered him back to his mother. I was one happy Grandma when I returned to the familiar serenity of my home. We had both been stretched and our obligatory affection for one another challenged. Most important of all, though, we have, I hope, both found something new in one another . . . the beginnings of a deeper love.Next summer . . . another grandchild, more discoveries.