Garrett’s “Daddy Time”

by Thomas M. Pender

Today is my middle son Garrett’s 12th birthday.  Time has sure flown.  He’s as tall as my neck, and way too big for me to carry around.  There was a time, however, that he and I spent many magical moments together. . . .

Garrett has always lived with his mother, and while this was not what I envisioned when I planned a family, this arrangement did mean that his time with me was special.  He would always run to me when I pulled up to his house (and in fact, I was told that whenever a car parked near the house, he would ask if I was there!).  During his toddling years, I loved putting him up on my shoulders.  Sitting at an approximate shoulder height of 5’10” or so, Garrett really enjoyed the higher outlook on his world, too!  He would grab two fistfuls of hair, and ride Dad around the house and yard.  What I got a kick out of, though, was that every so often, he would swing his head down on my right so he could see my face.  It seemed to me that he was checking to make sure it was still Daddy on the other side of the head he was grabbing onto.  It always made me laugh.

When he was a bit older, he started to understand that my visits were never for long . . . and he also started to protest my departures!  He would cry or yell “No!” when I would tell him I had to go, and he would latch onto my leg to make leaving impossible.  For quite some time, I had to enlist the help of his maternal grandmother in order to get to my car.  I would give her a nod when it was time for me to leave, and she would say, “Garrett, come and see what’s in the kitchen!” or “You want some juice, Garrett?” or the like, and when he followed her out of the room (which would be the closest room to the door), I’d duck out.  My son is intelligent, however.  After a few weeks of this, he would still go to his grandmother, but he’d very quickly poke his head back in to make sure I was still there!  A few months later, he was developed enough to hop down from my lap to go see his grandmother, but he’d point at me first and say, “Don’t leave!”

I love the man Garrett is becoming, but I have to admit that I miss the days when he ran to me upon arrival . . . and threatened me before leaving the room.

Happy birthday, Garrett!  I love you!

Beanie Bear

by Thomas M. Pender

I am a sentimental hoarder of memorabilia by nature.  It would be hard for me to throw away an illegible scrap of paper if my grandfather had given it to me as a child.  In keeping with this pattern, there are items here and there that my sons have given me which I know I will probably have until the day I die.  One such item is a nondescript five-inch-tall bear-shaped cloth beanbag doll.

When my youngest, John Christian, was probably only three, he loved when I came to visit him and his brothers.  He liked to run around in the yard with me or sit in my lap and watch his cartoons or show me a new toy he’d gotten.  I’m still amazed when I recall that at that age, he could beat his older brothers at one particular video game while hardly looking at the screen.  It didn’t matter to either of us what we did during our time together, as long as we were together.

A year earlier, a two-year-old Johnny started to protest whenever I would announce that I had to leave their house.  He would moan “Noooooo” like his older brother Garrett used to, or hug me and not let go, and a few times, he would physically block my exit.  This was a very special message to me, which obviously did not go unnoticed.  My son loved me and he knew I loved him.  Our times together were too short and far between, and he tried anything he could think of to extend my presence in his life, and his in mine.

One particular day, after getting through John’s body blockade and making it out of the house, I heard him calling after me.  He burst through the door, and ran to me, waving something in his hand.

“This is for you,” he said, pushing something soft into my hands.

The bear hardly had a face to speak of, but I could tell it was something his mother had gotten him.  I knew what Johnny was saying to me, even beyond his vocabulary at the time.  This simple doll was a greeting card to take with me.  “I miss you, Daddy, and I don’t want you to forget me while we’re apart.  Take this bear and think of me when you see it.”

Hard as it was to push it back in his direction, I was forced to say, “No, Johnny, your mom gave you that.  She wouldn’t like you giving it away.”

This child got the most serious adult-looking face I’d ever seen on him, looked me in the eye, and said, “I want you to have it.”

My son’s wish to extend our bond was immediately more important than anything else.  It wasn’t just a rag doll anymore.  This was my child doing all he could do to come with me and stay with me.

John turns seven on the day this column posts.  I have seen him even less often over the past two years than I did when he was three.  In my mission to not commute 100 miles to any given job, I have moved three times since the day he gave me the beanie bear.  It’s still with me, though.  It still sits on my dresser, looks at me every morning, and in my head and heart, it says in my three-year-old son Johnny’s voice, “I love you and I miss you, Daddy.”  Until the day the seams pull themselves apart with age and the beans spill out, I don’t see myself separating from this doll.  Even then, I see myself keeping the skin of it.  The message and the meaning are too great and too deep for me to leave it behind.

Happy birthday, “Mini Me.”  Daddy loves you, too.