WE MARK TIME and life in years. For the young, those birthdates are merry milestones. For me – halfway to 63 yet a lifetime behind my Dad, who’s halfway to 95 – I’m too likely now to notice and lament the aches that are Father Time’s gift basket. But don’t be fooled: I cherish the passage, too.
Time manifests itself in the generations. On April 1, my grandson turned 1, his first trip through the calendar – a leap year, fittingly. That means, obviously, that I’m celebrating my first anniversary as a grandfather, or “Poppy” in my case. It’s been a seminal year for both of us.
Fifteen years in the future, my grandson will be driving a car, or whatever passes for an automobile in 2039. Maybe I’ll be taking a new set of knees or hips for a test-drive. But why jump ahead? Stay in the present. That’s something that 1-year-olds and 62-year-olds might do equally well.
My grandson’s present features a beautiful smile with nine – count ’em, nine! – teeth. He speaks (often sings) Baby fluently. He wisely refuses to step into toddlerhood, standing and teetering as he teases us. That’s right, stay in the present a bit longer. The future comes at you quickly once you’re on the move.
My present is always rooted in the past. I’m thinking specifically about the recent past. May 3 will mark five years since I had triple bypass heart surgery. I’m still in awe about that miracle. I’ll be forever thankful that two doctors and a physician’s assistant saved my life, allowing me to see the birth of my grandson and other precious things.
Here’s to the past, present, and future.
Grandson Beck (54 weeks old) and Poppy (3,264 weeks old) at Beck’s first ballgame. (Photo by Kyler Brown)