2002-03-03 - 8:30 a.m.
CROSSING THE DIVIDE
There are all sorts of ways to commune with God. Mr. Philately found one Friday night that he hadn�t found in a long time. He bounced a baby on his knee during services. He sang prayers while waving the baby�s hands in time to the music. He commented to the baby in a soft voice about how lovely the baby�s voice was when the baby went �ah, ah, ah� as the children�s choir sang. He even let the baby pull his beard. He looked utterly natural and utterly content. It wasn�t until services were over and the social time began that he realized that he had crossed a divide.
The baby belonged to a cousin and was approximately four months old. He was a �good� baby, the type that only cries for a reason although, after dealing with a colicky Monster Baby (Day-Hay) Mr. Philately and I are far more emotionally capable of dealing with a fussy baby than the average citizen. The cousin handed Mr. Philately the baby at the beginning of the service. She was expecting that he�d hold the baby for a short time and hand him back. But Mr. Philately and I learned long ago not to pass around a happy baby in places where others around you want to be able to hear what is going on. It�s too big a risk. And, despite being a first-time mother, my cousin knew it too (although it may be that being my mother�s helper after I had Monster Baby helped teach her.)
The divide was how people viewed Mr. Philately and the baby. When my children were younger, older women who watched Mr. Philately with his babies used to tell me what a good father he was and how wonderful he was with babies. As my children became a little older, Mr. Philately held babies less but, on the occasions he did, older men and women would ask me if we were thinking of having another one. Little did they know that Mr. Philately preferred to limit his enjoyment to rental babies.
Friday, they had different questions. Was he looking forward to grandchildren? Was he practicing for grandchildren? Was he anxious for grandchildren? As our oldest daughter is only fourteen, clearly we prefer to wait for a while and most of the people asking knew it. Still, it told Mr. Philately that something in their perception had changed. Perhaps it is the gray in his hair or, more likely, the gray in his beard but they definitely had stopped thinking of him as the father of a small baby. He�d crossed the divide from potential dad to potential grandpa.
I have to assume that I�ve passed that divide too. No one said anything to me about me but then I didn�t hold the baby during services. Still and all, I�m a year older than Mr. Philately. If he�s approaching grandpa age, I must be approaching grandma age although I hope it�s still a while off�not so much for my sake as for the sake of my children.
Although I have no plans for more children, it seems strange to be thought of more in terms of grandparent than parent. I haven�t yet sent my own children out into the world, although that time is drawing near. I�m still a parent�although, when I think about it, my parents are still parents too.
How odd to have crossed a divide and not have noticed. Perhaps when we crossed, we forgot to look down and just focused on the road ahead of us. Birthdays may be the mile markers but it would help to have a brown sign posted that would point out the sights along the way�or at least tell us where we are.
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
