Author: Denis Wilhelm

Cousins

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Our granddaughters are cousins –  five year old Charlise is our son’s daughter and two year old Anna is our daughter’s daughter.  These two really love one another and they love being together.  It’s pure joy to watch how they talk and play and care for each other.  They live about an hour apart now and we try to have them spend time together as often as possible.

I love to eaves-drop on their conversations when they’re playing. They play a lot of “pretend” and Anna usually follows Charlise’s lead but sometimes Anna decides to do things her way and Charlise usually obliges. Depending on what the “pretend” game is the conversations vary but generally it’s some variation on Disney Princesses or Dora the Explorer.  Most often Charlise is Dora and Anna is Boots, Dora’s faithful monkey friend.  Pretty fitting actually – Anna climbs on everything and Charlise likes to wear a backpack.

Yesterday they were playing together in the ‘blow-up’ pool on our patio.  Charlise has been taking swimming lessons and was showing us how she can hold her breath and swim underwater.  Of course whatever Charlise does, Anna MUST do as well.  When Anna put her head underwater she took a big gulp and came up coughing and frightened.  She started to cry and immediately Charlise held her in her arms gently and sang very softly “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star…”  The two of them held onto each other until the song was over.  And then Anna let out a little ‘fake cry’ and the process started all over again – both of them embraced, Charlise singing and Anna being comforted.  How I wished I would have had a video camera – talk about your Hallmark® commercial moment”! 

But unlike Hallmark® commercials this moment was completely unscripted.  And it wasn’t done for attention or approval.  It was just one sweet girl cousin comforting her baby girl cousin because she loves her and because she cares.  And I was blessed for having witnessed this.  These girls will grow up and may grow apart (but please God don’t let that happen!) and they probably will choose different paths.  Like many cousins they may have very different lives some day.  But for this one brief moment they connected in a way that was so profound it brought me to tears.  And I thanked God at that instant for granddaughters that love one another.  And I thanked God for parents that have taught their daughters so well.  I can’t help but wonder how many times Charlise has been comforted with “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star…”  And how good it must have felt in her little heart to share that gift with “Baby Anna”.

Dear God, thank you for our beautiful granddaughters.  It’s true that You give us more than we deserve!

Peace,

Denis

Lil’ Orange

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Today Lil’ Orange died.  Lil’ Orange was our granddaughter Anna’s pet goldfish.  Anna is two years old, so Lil’ Orange’s death came as a complete surprise to her.  I’m told she was sobbing and crying out for her ‘baby fish’.  It is heartbreaking and I wanted to rush to her side!  I’m certain that a replacement later today will ease her pain.  Until then Goldie, the surviving goldfish, will have the bowl to herself.  FYI – all goldfish are girls according to Anna. 

Anna with Pawpaw

The death of Lil’ Orange has upset me, too.  Anna now has to confront death.  She has to learn that nothing or no one lasts forever.  And she may or may not find solace in the idea of “fish heaven”.  A tiny piece of her innocence is gone forever…

This is one of those “teachable moments” that some parents hope for and all parents must face.  The first loss most children experience is the death of a pet. Of course, now Anna is very focused on this event – what does it mean that Lil’ Orange died?  This is a great opportunity for Mommy and Daddy to teach her about death and new life.  Her sadness will be temporary but the knowledge and understanding that she gains should last her lifetime.

No parent (or grandparent) wants to see a two year old grieve but hopefully with tenderness and patience, Anna will come to accept Lil’ Orange’s passing as part of God’s greater plan.  She will find comfort in knowing that Mommy and Daddy care about her loss.  She will be consoled by their concern toward her and her pet.  And she will understand that sometimes bad things happen, but love always remains.

I still want to rush to her side, hug her and kiss away her tears.  I’d like to lie to her and tell her that Lil’ Orange was just taking a nap and will be back soon.  But I know that my daughter and son-in-law are smarter than that.  They will use this “teachable moment” to educate Anna and instill in her compassion and love – the same compassion and love that they will show her during this agonizing time.  Now, I need a hug…

Lil’ Orange R.I.P.

Peace,

Denis

Humility

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Two years ago I was diagnosed with Zoster (Shingles).  It’s a strain of the Chicken Pox virus that attacks your nervous system.  Often Zoster presents itself around a person’s torso; in my case it was the right side of my head.  At the onset, the pain was excruciating and my face became swollen and slightly disfigured.  It felt as if someone was sticking needles through my head from the inside out.  Even my hair hurt!  It lasted for several weeks and finally localized in my jaw/ear and became manageable.  After a couple of months it was completely gone.  Now the only reminder is a scar on my chin and some tenderness around my temple. 

At the time, Deb suggested (after a day of me feeling particularly sorry for myself) that maybe this was a “humbling experience” that I needed.  She reminded me that there are many people that live in constant misery and have no hope of comfort or recovery.  She felt that perhaps it was an opportunity for me to be more compassionate towards others and more understanding of those who are suffering in our world.  I’m trying really hard to forget what I muttered under my breath to her at that moment!

But you know what?  She was right.

I’m afraid too often I take for granted the blessings God has bestowed on me.  I somehow feel that I’ve earned what I have or that I’m responsible for my own success.  I sometimes forget that God’s hand is active in everything that I do (or don’t do).  I’ve heard it said that the problem with “self-made men” is that often they begin to worship their maker.  I’ve been guilty of that.  Time and again, it’s all about me!

And I find myself judging others without understanding their struggle.  I see sadness and injustice everywhere but it’s too easy to turn a deaf ear or a blind eye to the real causes.  When I encounter profound suffering, I often find myself wanting to run from it – to ‘bury my head in the sand’ so to speak.  At times I lack any real empathy.  Do I really believe that others somehow deserve their suffering?  God, forgive me!

Having my painful episode with Zoster did help me become compassionate, if only briefly.  From time to time I have to recall that pain when dealing with others’ hardships.  I need to remind myself that I am not the master of my destiny.  I need to be reminded that not everyone’s misfortune is their own doing.  And that while it is easy to sometimes look down on others, it is important to remember that God is ALWAYS looking down on all of us.

This is what Jesus tells us in Luke’s Gospel: 

“Two people went up to the temple area to pray; one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector.

The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself, ‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity–greedy, dishonest, adulterous–or even like this tax collector.

I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.’

But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’

I tell you, the latter went home justified, not the former; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

I thank God for “my humbling experience” and for a wife whose love and devotion helped me to see it.

Peace,

Denis

Mister Magoo

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My wife likes to tell the story of the time we stopped at a McDonald’s® for something to drink and I pulled into the drive-thru lane to order.  It was a very hot day AND we were extremely thirsty AND I was undoubtedly fatigued.  As I was sitting there waiting for the ‘electronic voice’ to take my order, Debbie asked, “What are you doing?”  I replied, with some irritation, “I’m waiting for someone to take my order!”  Her response, which registered somewhere between disbelief and sarcasm: “That’s the trash can, Mr. Magoo! – why don’t you pull up to the speaker?”  We have laughed about this many times since.  And when I say ‘we’ what I mean is Debbie and our children.  And friends and family that she has told, etc., etc., etc.  Boy, make one simple mistake…

Not that I need to defend my actions (a simple mistake anyone could have made) but that trash can was shaped kind of like one of those ‘ordering thingies’ and though I am not as blind as Mister Magoo, I may not have been wearing my glasses that day.  Anyway, I guess it’s good sometimes to be the butt of the joke – even if it’s me that’s the butt. 

 You know, it’s healthy to learn to laugh at yourself.  We all know those folks that take themselves WAY too seriously.  We all know that person that gets upset when you question anything they do or say.  I have a friend that ABSOLUTELY MUST be right about everything and can never admit to a mistake.  I always want to say, “but you know… ” Of course, then I would become the friend that must be right about everything. 

It’s enough for me to know THAT I AM RIGHT.  I don’t need to tell everyone or prove it to all the poor misguided nincompoops.  Superiority has its own rewards.

So as I bask in my self-righteousness, you should know that I was just joking around the day that Debbie thought I was trying to give my order to the trash can.  I would never do anything so foolish. 

See you out there, ROAD-HOGS!

Peace,

Denis

Spiritual Desert

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Like me, do you ever find yourself in a spiritual desert?  Those times when my prayers seem empty and perfunctory, it feels as if I’m just going through the motions.  And maybe I am.  So I pray: God, please help me!                                   

During those times I will attend Mass and sing and pray along and listen to The Word but I might as well be driving through the Automatic Car Wash.  My experience is completely passive and it barely registers on my psyche.  It almost feels as if I’m watching someone else – it’s not worship; it’s not prayer; it’s just sort of dutiful religious regurgitation.  Not exactly inspiring!

But sometimes maybe just BEING THERE is enough.  Maybe just being in the presence of others that are truly engaged spiritually has its own grace.  Perhaps being part of a community of believers means that sometimes we carry one another along the journey.  Possibly the prayers and singing of the ‘inspired ones’ can lift me up before God when I can barely pull myself into the pew. 

I sure hope so.  Because lately these desert experiences have been coming along more frequently and lasting much longer.  I sometimes fear that this life on earth may make me lose out on eternal life.  Too many times I approach the altar angry or hurt and can’t (or won’t) let go of my outrage.  Too often I have judged others as hypocrites.  And I it find more and more difficult to forgive and yet I expect complete forgiveness for my own shortcomings.

So I trudge along; hoping that maybe just by being at Mass and participating, however vacuous, I might find some grace and be touched by the Holy Spirit.  Witnessing my family’s worship, during these empty times, I wonder why I can’t feel God’s presence as they do.  Sometimes when my spirituality feels particularly bankrupt I find comfort in just holding my granddaughter in church.  She is certainly closer to God and just that simple act brings me a measure of peace (God’s peace?). 

Some days my prayer is just this:  God, please help me!  And there are times when that’s all I’ve got…

Peace,

Denis

Riding Bicycles

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Remember when your bicycle was your only mode of transportation?  When I was a kid my friend Alan and I would ride just about everywhere – pavement was optional. And our bikes weren’t mountain bikes with 18 gears and European traction.  They were Schwinn’s or Huffy’s with big fat tires and fenders and baskets in the front to accommodate our paper route jobs.  Later we graduated to “Banana Bikes” with the crazy handle bars and “banana seats”.  We would ride to school.  We would ride to our friends’ houses.  We would ride to the neighborhood stores.  We would ride to the park or swimming pool.  Having a bicycle meant freedom and we relished it!  At about 13 years old we road our bikes across two river ferries to a State Park in a neighboring state – to my knowledge our parents still don’t know about this.  My point: if we could get somewhere on two wheels – we would go there!  We didn’t need to ask for a ride (in a car) and we often didn’t ask permission to go beyond our normal boundaries (see State Park trip above).  We just rode our bikes.

Now I know that those were simpler times and maybe there weren’t as many child predators then (but I doubt it).  We grew up in a relatively small town and I suppose there was a certain amount of naïveté that came along with small town life – bad things only happened in the BIG CITY.  We were safe.  The only thing we had to worry about was getting home before dinner or dark – whichever came first.

Recently my wife and I bought bicycles.  We thought it would be healthy and fun!  We bought BIG cruisers with BIG seats and BIG tires.  Debbie’s bike even has a bell, like the one she had as a girl.  Apparently these bikes are made for “people our age” as the snotty-nosed punk at the bicycle shop pointed out.  Incidentally, I think that kid was high.  

Anyway, you know how they say “it’s just like riding a bicycle; you never forget”?  Well I’d like to know who in hell said that and how they know, because I seem to have forgotten a lot about riding bikes.  For instance:  I don’t remember my thighs burning after a 3 mile bike ride.  I also have apparently forgotten that you pant like a dog and sweat like a pig just cruising through your subdivision.  I also don’t remember my butt being sore from a short trip to the Qwiki-Mart down the street.  And I certainly don’t recall ever having to soak in a tub after a FUN BIKE RIDE.  Oh, my! 

God certainly has a sense of humor.  Why else would he let middle-aged people think that they should ‘start’ riding bicycles again after a 40 year hiatus?  Come to think of it – calling ourselves middle-aged is pretty funny, too – unless I live to be 110 years old.  And that’s not too likely if I keep riding my bicycle!  I need to quit writing now and go ice something.   Happy Trails.

Peace,

Denis

Uncle Ted

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July 21, 2010 marks the one-year anniversary of my Uncle Ted’s death. I loved him and he loved me – of that I am certain. Ted was my uncle by marriage but he was much more than that.  He was my friend; my confidant; my role model. 

Uncle Ted and Aunt Sha shared a true love story – and she followed him in death less than two months later. It was always hard to imagine what life for one would be without the other, so I guess God’s blessing was that they didn’t spend much time apart. I like to think that Uncle Ted was just getting things ready for Aunt Sha’s arrival – making certain things were ‘just so’ – everything to her liking. That was what he did for her here on earth – why not in heaven, too? 

When his pastor eulogized him, I was especially touched when he said, “Ted loved his Church”. Those words struck a chord in me because it was such a simple statement but so true. He did love his Church – he loved each of the members.  I was always pleased and proud to worship with him at First Baptist Church in Benton, Kentucky. And he witnessed to me in so many ways:  he showed me that a real man does not need to be ashamed to profess his love for Jesus. We prayed together, we celebrated life’s joys together and he comforted me in times of despair.  He always listened to me and took care to offer encouragement or counsel as needed. He NEVER questioned God’s plan for us and accepted each day as a gift from God to be cherished.  I’m learning to do the same. I often used to pray “Oh, God this time let’s try it my way!” but Uncle Ted taught me the folly and vanity of that prayer.  Now I pray that the Holy Spirit will give me the strength to accept life’s challenges and I’m learning to praise God for each day. 

I’m Catholic and Uncle Ted was a devout Southern Baptist. It didn’t matter. We looked for the commonalities and didn’t focus on the things that were divisive. My Catholic upbringing was very different from Uncle Ted’s Southern Baptist tradition but we rarely disagreed on faith. I learned so much from him and I think I taught him some things, too. My Church believes that we are saved by Baptism and we believe in the Trinity, the Sacred Scripture and life-everlasting, as does his.  I know that most of the ritual in my Church is non-essential, but it was the way I was raised and I find comfort in those traditions. Uncle Ted and I understood that the fact that we are both Christian was the most important thing. I will always treasure the times that I sat next to him in the Church that he loved so dearly. And I am proud too that he joined me on occasion at my Church. Uncle Ted and I both knew that God is neither Catholic nor Baptist.  God’s ways are not man’s ways. 

I still miss him everyday. I miss his advice and his sense of humor. I miss the sound of his voice.  And I have to admit that there are times when I still talk to him (in my head). Uncle Ted knew more about my kids; my job; my life than my own parents. Every so often he would call just to check in and I was always better after our conversations. If an e-mail that I sent or phone message that I left sounded disconcerting, he would call immediately. And I know that he was proud of me and the life that Debbie and I have built. I believe he loved our kids as much as his own grandchildren. Our trips to Kentucky will always be some of the best memories we share as a family.

Uncle Ted witnessed to my family and me in everything that he did. I will always think of him with these words attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: “Preach the Gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.” 

Peace,

Denis

Matriarchs

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Ever since our recent family reunion I’ve been thinking about my dad and my grandparents and great aunts and great uncles.  My dad’s generation of Wilhelms was all-male – he had two brothers and three male cousins – no girls.

My dad is a big guy and has a big personality and is from a generation of men that think “men are in charge” (or should be).  What’s interesting to me is that in this male-dominated Wilhelm family, in my opinion, the strongest Wilhelms were the matriarchs.

From my earliest childhood memories, my grandmother Kyra worked outside the home as a nurses’ aid.  In the 1950’s and 1960’s, while other grandmas were at home rocking babies and baking cookies, mine was at the hospital taking temperatures, dispensing medications and changing bed pans.  The stories of my great-grandmother Elizabeth are legendary:  Coming to this country alone at thirteen from Germany; marrying one brother and then another, after the first died after only nine months of marriage; then raising her young family alone after her second husband (my great-grandfather) died.  She was tough, stubborn and a force to be reckoned with. And my great-great-grandmother Mary apparently converted the entire family to Catholicism back when women had no say in such matters.

Then there were “The Aunts”.  My three great aunts (my grandfather’s sisters) were never married.  Aunt Marie, Aunt (Wilhelmina) Minnie, and Aunt (Elizabeth) Liddy would have been called old maids back in the day.  They lived together in the family home that became the base of operations for all Wilhelm family gatherings.  I’ve heard stories that Aunt Minnie was once (almost) engaged but I don’t know if that’s true and it doesn’t matter because she remained devoted to her sisters and the entire Wilhelm clan.  In some ways growing up with the Aunts was like having three more grandmothers – maybe even better than that.  They balanced and complemented one another.  Where Aunt Liddy was more nurturing – she rocked the babies and sang lullabies, Aunt Marie was more artistic and willing to let us “mess in the kitchen” with her.  She made great play dough (not to be confused with Play-Doh®) and would let us play with it for hours.  And she would burn cinnamon in an old German ceramic “house-shaped” contraption – it was magical!  Aunt Minnie was my Godmother and my favorite.  I can still feel her gentle hand on my shoulder and smell her perfume.  She was a business woman – the County Nurse’s secretary.  And she was well-respected in our hometown.  I remember walking downtown with her many times and people would greet her very politely as “Miss Wilhelm”.  I was always so proud to be with my Aunt Min!

I’ve often thought about all the things that they did for each of us – especially my generation of 24 great nieces and nephews.  Each birthday Aunt Liddy would call to find out what kind of birthday cake we wanted – and she would make it exactly to our order!  Each Easter meant an Easter egg hunt at their house and after each family left, the Aunts would re-hide the eggs for the next nephew’s family (I learned about the re-hiding of the eggs many years later).  Christmas would mean cookies that arrived from some cousin in Germany and although we didn’t care for them then, it breaks my heart now to know that the Aunts would share their treasure with us.  Christmas also meant packages wrapped in white tissue paper – always wrapped the same way each year.  The gifts were simple (and practical) but even as a kid I loved receiving socks or a shirt knowing that the Aunts had bought it just for me.

As kids, we Wilhelms, might have taken the Aunts for granted.  Didn’t everybody have three extra grandmothers?  But looking back I cherish what they meant to us and I honor their memories by visiting their graves ocassionally.  This is something that Aunt Minnie and I would do together – we would go to the Wilhelm burial plots in St. Peter’s Cemetery and pull weeds and place flowers at the graves of the ancestors that I never knew.  So now when I go to ‘visit the Aunts’ I thank them for instilling in me a love of family.  And pride in being a Wilhelm.  Even if I am only a male.

Peace,

Denis

Family Reunion (Skinny legs and all)

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Last Saturday the Wilhelms had a Family Reunion.  This came about because my cousin Colleen who lives most of the year in Thailand was in the States for a few weeks.  She and her sister Lynnette were going to be in town for a couple of days and asked if any of us could maybe meet for dinner.  Because of the resourcefulness of my cousin Keith a family reunion was pulled together on very short notice.  So what was originally going to be dinner with a few of us became a reunion for all of us.  What a treat for those of us that could attend!

Cousin Colleen and granddaughter Anna

Our family is relatively small and many of us still live within 20 miles or so of the original “Family Home” and yet to my knowledge this was the first-ever Wilhelm Family Reunion.  I think it was pretty standard reunion stuff – we gathered at a local park and shared a meal and good memories.  We were able to meet (or re-introduce ourselves) to spouses and children and grandchildren.  Because the event was planned pretty hastily there were some family members that couldn’t join us.  But there’s good news:  we’re already planning another reunion for October 2011.

What struck me on Saturday was the feeling of belonging.  We all share this common ancestry that is neither good nor bad or remarkable or dreadful.  We’re just a bunch of regular people that happen to be related to one another and yet it was wonderful to be together and feel connectivity.  Maybe for people that have frequent family reunions this is not that impressive but for me it was the first time that this many Wilhelms got together for something other than a funeral. 

We shared stories.  We reminisced.  We looked back at the past by remembering grandparents and into the future by watching our children and grandchildren interact on one hot summer afternoon.  And it was nice – it was more than nice.  It was family.

My cousin Diane felt it was necessary to summon me to stand with her and several other cousins to compare our skinny legs (for the record mine are lean and muscular).  She pointed out to everyone’s amusement that we had our Great Aunt Marie’s legs.  Who knew that genetics could play such dirty tricks?  I guess I never realized that I had inherited Aunt Marie’s “Olive Oyle-esque” legs.  Talk about a birthright!  What’s completely unfair to me is that I also inherited the Wilhelm nose – those cousins that share this trait can also feel my pain.  Why couldn’t I have inherited my grandmother’s artistic ability?  But instead, I got the LEGS and the NOSE.  I’m just thankful that my wife has improved the gene pool for my kids and grandkids.

Today I’m also thanking God for all the Wilhelms – the ones that were with us on Saturday and the ones that couldn’t be there for whatever the reason.  I’d like to think that there were some happy Wilhelms in heaven looking down on our gathering, too.  They will always be with us in spirit.  Thanks for the memories.  And thanks for the legs Aunt Marie!

Peace,

Denis

Nostalgia

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We lived in Mequon, Wisconsin for 10 years. Recently while visiting friends there, I had an opportunity to walk to our old house. I visited with our former next door neighbor and got caught up on kids and grandkids and what the new neighbors are like – actually there have been a couple of sets of neighbors since we left but that’s another story. 

No one was home at our old place so I walked through the yard and it felt strange and wonderful. I realized then how much I miss that place and that time. Of course there’s no going back but the memories are nice. Our kids were in grade school when we moved there and this fall our oldest granddaughter begins kindergarten and time keeps marching on. Blink of an eye – yesterday and today. Walking across the lawn took me back to a time when our kids were at home and there were backyard ballgames; sleep-overs with their friends; bonfires; dinner table discussions (and debates); cub scout den meetings; graduation parties; first dates; etc., etc.

It’s funny how most memories are a little fuzzy; especially the good ones. Maybe it’s the fuzziness that makes them good. In my happy memories of Westfield Road, the house is always clean and supper is on the table. The kids are well-behaved and we all live in peace and harmony. No one ever has hurt feelings; the bills are all paid and life is care-free. That’s mostly true. Well it was sometimes true. BUT the good times there were good and that’s what I choose to remember. We had a good life. And we could not ask for more. There was love and laughter and that made up for “the not so good stuff” that we sometimes had to deal with.

Mequon was an interesting place to live. It is a very affluent suburb of Milwaukee. We bought the last affordable house – we affectionately referred to our place as the ‘little house in Mequon’. That way everyone from Mequon that we encountered at church or school or the local market would know at first meeting that we were not normal Mequonites. Most folks were CEO’s or CFO’s or COO’s of the companies that they worked for; if they didn’t own the businesses outright. You couldn’t ‘swing a cat’ in Mequon without hitting a doctor (mostly specialists), a lawyer, or a local news celebrity or sports star. Let’s just say: we were out of our league.

And yet somehow we fit in. Our kids made great friends (although I suspect some of their parents were a little leery about dropping their kids off at our place initially – no three or four car garage; no swimming pool; no tennis court; not even a paved driveway). We found a great place to worship. We found fabulous schools. And a funny thing happened along the way – we found out that we weren’t so different from most of the people that we came to know. Our daughter’s best friend is someone she met her first day of school there and I suspect that they will remain friends for life. We also learned that being rich isn’t always about having money. Some of the saddest people that we met were some of the wealthiest. Everyone knows that “money can’t buy happiness” but somehow you just think it should at least prevent heartbreak – but it can’t.

We learned pretty quickly that people that who judge you by where you work or how much money you make or what university your child attends aren’t really worth knowing. And we found wonderful life-long friends that have accepted us for what (and who) we are. So we may have been poor by Mequon standards but we were always blessed abundantly by God with family, friends, a good home and lots of love.

Please forgive my nostalgia but sometimes we all need to look backwards to face the future. And of course I realize today that we are still blessed abundantly and will continue to be…

Peace,

Denis