Commentary

Making Anna Cry

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Last night my three year-old granddaughter Anna was being a little mischievous. She was antsy at dinner and didn’t want to eat anything (except dessert of course). After much cajoling she finally ate enough to qualify for some ice cream. Once that milestone had been met she promptly bounded out of her chair and dashed to the refrigerator. And then she threw both the refrigerator and freezer doors open. When I reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to open the refrigerator she protested that “she had eaten her dinner”.

Now usually I’m pretty accommodating when it comes to the grandkids (some would say I’m a sucker) but this particular time I decided to hold my ground. In a battle with an impetuous three year-old you have to be pretty wily. So I decided to show her who was boss. I told her that I would gladly get her some ice cream from the downstairs freezer after she picked up the Legos that were strewn on the laundry room floor. Did I mention that I was using my big loud “I’M IN CHARGE” voice? Anna is not accustomed to hearing me speak to her that way and with that came the tears. Not just tears – sobs!

Her mother had previously threatened her with a dreaded “time out” and Anna was undaunted. But Pawpaw raising his voice and telling her NO? That was too much! And she cried. And cried! And cried!
 
When her Nana tried to intervene by asking her why she was crying so hard, she responded: “Because Pawpaw was mean to me!” Ouch! That stung. I had merely wanted her to mind me, not to emotionally scar her for life. What had I done? What kind of beast had I become? Now I was the one fighting back the tears. But instead of giving in (my first impulse), I decided to reason with her. Reasoning with a three year-old is like trying to put socks on an octopus. But I gave it a try because I think that Anna is more reasonable than most three year-olds (at least in my experience – remember I raised her mother).
 
I held her and wiped her tears and explained that my old refrigerator couldn’t handle being opened and closed too often and that the doors don’t always close all the way without the special push that Nana and Pawpaw give them. Because three year-olds anamorphize most things, in her mind that poor refrigerator became a living thing which must be treated with some compassion. Additionally I told her that I would help her pick up the Legos and we could count them to see how many we each could pick up. She smiled because she counted: “one, two, three, four, five, one hundred”. And then declared herself the winner! By then most of the tears were gone although her little face was still red and tear-stained.
 
When I returned to the table with the promised ice cream she seemed to have forgiven me but I’ll never know for sure. And of course Deb (Nana) and Bess (Mommy) were now crying, too.

During Happier Times

Making Anna cry is not what I had intended to do. But I suppose that all grandfathers find themselves in tough spots sometimes. I could have ignored her naughtiness, and maybe I should have, but something made me risk her adoration by standing firm. I hope that she will understand how much I love her and that even the best granddaughters need to be told “no” every once in a while. But for now I’ve sworn off disciplining my grandkids, I much prefer being the big softie.
 
I don’t plan on making Anna cry any time soon. Honestly, it’s really more than I can take. So yes Anna; whatever it is you want, the answer is yes!
 
Peace,

Denis

Did I Ever Tell You About The Time…?

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I can almost hear the groans as I write this. “YES! We all know that story!”

Maybe someday Noah will continue the legacy

My Dad, God bless him, loves to tell his stories. The problem is that he has told the SAME stories (and jokes) for as long as I can remember. He really needs some new material. Dad is 85 years old now and I suppose he is entitled to repeat himself but everyone in the family can tell his stories verbatim. 

Somehow that doesn’t bother him. He tells them again (and again). Mom usually rolls her eyes and the grandkids giggle because it’s a ritual they’ve come to appreciate. Sometimes they’re the instigators. “Hey Grandpa, how did you and Gram meet?’ or “Hey Grandpa, did you really travel through the Panama Canal during World War II?” or “Grandpa, what’s that joke about the priest, the rabbi, and the Lutheran minister?” And he’s off and running…

Now of course I am doing the same thing (and I’m not certain when it really started). I will repeat the same joke ad nauseam – because “if it’s funny the first time”…

I will recount for the umpteenth time a story (which may contain some truth) about something that happened before most of my captive listeners were born. I CAN’T HELP MYSELF. I don’t know, maybe it’s genetic; maybe it’s a learned behavior. It’s like the cycle of abuse – I’ve become the abuser (in this case the serial story-teller). And I kind of like it. No, I really like it. It’s frightening!

The problem for serial story-tellers like me is that our victims are all too willing. Most people are either too polite to ask that I “shut up” or they are actually entertained (initially). It doesn’t matter. If I have a willing listener – I will talk. All normal social clues such as yawning, looking at a watch, blank stares, preoccupation with cell phones, PDAs, etc., have no power over a serial story-teller. Debbie even tries to ‘intervene’ by asking me to “not tell that one again” – that’s utter foolishness. Once I’ve settled in – you’re there for the WHOLE STORY. I wish I could stop, but I can’t.

And I know that someday I’ll be very sad when Dad’s not around to tell his stories (even though we sometimes groan). But he needn’t worry, I’ll be telling them for him. Maybe that’s my purpose – to keep the flame alive. Perhaps Dad is passing the torch so that HIS stories will live on long after he does. Or maybe it’s just an annoying habit that I’ve picked up.

Either way, did I ever tell you about how Mom and Dad met…?

Peace,

Denis

Burden

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” These are Jesus’ words in Matthew’s Gospel. And often I need that reminder.

We all feel burdened from time to time but sometimes I admit that I play the “martyr”. Why me? Poor me! How can this be happening? What else can possibly go wrong? It’s during these times of self-pity that I forget God’s promise of love. I become so self-absorbed that I can only focus on my needs – my pain – my heartache. And my burden only becomes greater because I fail to remember that I am never truly alone.

During those darkest times – when I am feeling alone and unloved and that I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders I try to recall the words of a hymn that Deb shared with me the first year that we were married:

God has not promised skies always blue,

Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through;

God has not promised sun without rain,

Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.

But God has promised strength for the day,

Rest for the labor, light for the way;

Grace for the trials, help from above,

Unfailing sympathy, undying love.

Burdens. We all must bear them from time to time. Some are heavier than others. Some can be life-changing. And some might seem insurmountable. But nothing is stronger or more powerful than God’s love. The beauty of my life is that God delivers his love to me daily – through the shared hymn given to me by my beautiful wife; by the sweet kisses of my granddaughters or the giggle of my grandson; by the loving words of my children; by the comfort and concern of my siblings; by the countless kindnesses bestowed upon me by friends. Many times they have dried my tears; shared my struggles; helped me find my way.

"Nana, why are you crying?"

The other evening Deb was reading a bedtime story to our granddaughters – “That’s What Grandmothers Are For”. Now she has been known to cry watching a Hallmark® commercial so the fact that this book’s tender message brought tears to her eyes was no surprise to me. The girls however were both concerned because Nana was crying. Instinctively our younger granddaughter Anna grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. The pure compassion of that gesture then brought me to tears. What an amazing example our children have set for their own children!

Being Christ to one another is the ultimate expression of God’s love. Thanks to each of you for the times that you have carried my burden. I hope that you will allow me the honor of carrying yours, too.

Aretha Franklin sang about it in 1969. Still sounds good today…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reeE8mbh0zA

Peace,

Denis

iPod, iPad, iTunes, iPhone; it’s too much information!

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I love new technology. I especially love it when it works. I have an iPod® and an iPhone® and my son and son-in-law each have an iPad® (which just look like giant iPhones® to me). I have some ‘apps’ which I recently learned means ‘applications’ but I don’t really know what that means. And I don’t need to (or want to) know – please don’t try to tell me. I just want the phone to stop dropping calls. I also would like it to stop “pocket dialing” people; which means when jostled in my pocket my iPhone® mysteriously finds numbers and dials them – it’s like magic!

Now I’m told that there are many wonderful things that my iPhone® can do, but really just making phone calls and reading the occasional email is enough for me. Oh, and playing games when stuck in the airport or waiting in a long line is fun, too. But I don’t a need a GPS tracker that works like an electronic ankle bracelet or an ‘app’ that tells me what the restaurants in New Zealand are serving or what the temperature is on Mars. It’s too much information!

 And I refuse to text! I do not accept text messages nor will I send them (mainly because I don’t understand the abbreviations). It took me about a year to realize that LOL wasn’t someone’s initials! Don’t even get me started on OMG! What’s wrong with spelling an entire word or phrase? Remember how excited we were as children when we learned how to write? Wouldn’t it be fun to relive that excitement and use actual words in our written communications? Imagine the joy in being clearly understood by those with whom we are corresponding – instead of the receiving party asking “what in hell does this mean?”.

Call me old-fashioned but I don’t need you to send me Facebook® updates every time you leave your house. As glad as I may be that you “like” your favorite dry-cleaner, car wash, liquor store, or deli, I don’t really need you to share that information with me. Also I wish the folks at Amazon® would stop sending me “recommendations” daily. If I had that kind of money I would hire somebody to go out and buy stuff that I don’t need at a real store. And how do I get those STORY-PEOPLE® to stop??? I swear I’ll purchase another over-priced item if they’ll just stop sending me those daily STORY-PEOPLE® stories!

I think tomorrow I’ll write all my memorandums “old school” in long hand on real paper. There’s probably an ‘app’ for that, too.

Peace,

Denis

Letting Go

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Yesterday there was a memorial service for my cousin Jerry. Jerry was only 63 years old and died of a massive stroke a week before. At the visitation his siblings appeared shell-shocked. And rightly so; just two weeks ago we were all together at a family reunion and Jerry seemed the epitome of health and fitness. At the reunion Jerry and I talked about how nice it was to be together as a family at something other than a funeral. Two weeks ago…

And now here we are at his memorial and it just seems surreal. Earlier this year Jerry suffered the loss of his daughter Jennifer. She was only 30 years old. One of his sisters suggested that perhaps he hadn’t recovered from his broken heart but I doubt that caused his stroke. Still I wonder??? And at the service yesterday I couldn’t help but imagine the pain his wife Susan and surviving daughter Alison were now bearing; not to mention his  mother, sisters, and brothers. I’m ashamed to admit that I have this perverse habit at funerals of imagining myself in the grieving parties place -maybe others do it, too. I wonder how I would feel if it was Deb (or God forbid one of our kids)? How could I go on without her (them)? The pain and sorrow seem insurmountable.

But somehow we manage. We human beings are a pretty resilient species. Somehow we put one foot in front of the other and carry on. We grieve. We cry. But we live on. We must learn to let go.

Let go! How many times have I been told to just “let go”? Let go of anger. Let go of pettiness. Let go of jealousy. Let go of pride. It’s not easy. But letting go of  “bad things” is easier than letting go of the “good stuff”. But we must do that too. 

Letting go of Tyson when he left for the Air Force was difficult; I drove home alone with my heart breaking and tears streaming. Letting go of Bess after we delivered her to her dorm in Madison was painful; Deb and I rode home in silence, neither of us able to look at the other. On Bess’s wedding day I felt I was letting go of my little girl but I knew she would never leave me (not really). Moving back to Missouri and leaving Blake in Wisconsin at the University; feeling certain he felt abandoned (and feeling guilty and sad all at once), that was tough. But during those times of “letting go” we knew that we would be together again. Even when Tyson was deployed to Iraq we somehow knew our prayers would be answered and he would “come home”. But death – the final surrender. How do we let go? And yet I know that we have no choice. It will happen to each of us.

Yesterday one of the ministers that spoke at Jerry’s service said we all have a God-sized hole in our hearts and when we get to heaven it is filled. Maybe we needed to let go of Jerry so he could have his heart filled but it seems to me that his loved ones had the holes in their hearts made larger by his loss. Still it’s comforting to think about Jerry with his trademark smile enjoying a beautiful eternity with his daughter Jennifer and his dad, my Uncle Les.

But God if you’re listening (and I know that you always are) I’m not really ready to let go and I imagine that Jerry wasn’t either.

Peace,

Denis

Loss of Innocence

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Yesterday my two granddaughters and I spent the day together. First we went to the park where we encountered a Day Care Center that was using the park for a day camp. The place was overrun with 10 or 12 year-old boys that wouldn’t share most of the playground equipment. We were clearly outnumbered and outmaneuvered. And the adults were either clueless or careless. Either way, we sort of played around the perimeter of the place until it just became too much work and then we left for lunch.

After lunch we went to the swimming pool. The pool is a community pool at my daughter Bess’s subdivision, and while “private” it is a community pool so there are other swimmers there that we don’t know – strangers if you will. 

We all warn our kids about strangers – you know those scary adults that look creepy and lurk around unsuspecting little children: STRANGER DANGER! But yesterday we encountered another kind of stranger. This one was probably about 4 or 5 years old; a little girl in a Disney swimsuit. She seemed nice enough in the “baby pool” with her limp blond hair and little half-smile. That was until she opened her mouth. And then out it came: “Hey let’s play shark!” Anna, my three year-old granddaughter responded, “But we can be friendly sharks, okay?” Then strange-girl shouted with a snarl, “NO!” Anna and Charlise were kind of taken aback by strange-girl’s response. The next thing that transpired was an exchange of names. I couldn’t quite make out all the words but the demon-child said very loudly, “Anna’s not a real name – Annie is a real name!” Anna tried to reason with her but to no avail. I’m not sure what strange-girl had to say about Charlise’s name but I’m sure it was unkind.

Okay, at that point both Bess and I were on HIGH ALERT. But the tiny little beast was completely in control of the “baby pool”. We just sat there hapless and helpless. The next thing that strange-girl proclaimed was that, “If you step on those black things (the bottom drains in the pool) it’ll KILL YA!” Well that definitely got my attention! Who was this girl? Where were her parents? And at what point should I intervene??? 

Holy Innocents

Memories of my own children when young came flooding back. And silently I screamed: SAVE THEM! DON’T LET THE BAD GIRL RUIN THEIR SWEETNESS!! I want Charlise and Anna to only be “friendly sharks”; I want them to believe in unicorns and fairies; I want them to love rainbows and bunnies; I want their worst dreams to be ones where the cookie jar is empty or they’ve dropped their ice cream cones.

There’s time enough to grow up and face the harsh realities of life. But please God not yet – NOT TODAY. Please let them remain innocent a little longer. Please!!!

I’m afraid yesterday a little bit of that innocence was stolen by a tiny stranger (who probably has an older brother who plays “mean shark” and tells her name is stupid). And I just sat there dumbfounded while my pure little girls were subjected to what I’m sure is only the beginning of a lifetime of playground bullies, mean girls and other evil. I didn’t like it one bit – this feeling of powerlessness; knowing that strangers will continue to steal little pieces of their innocence. And one day they might lose their innocence completely – gasp!!!

I want to hold them in my arms and tell them all sharks are friendly and that no one will ever hurt them but I know that’s not possible. I can only help them be prepared for a world where everyone is not as beautiful as they are. And more prayers will be required…

Peace,

Denis

Fatherhood (and Grandfatherhood)

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Dear Tyson, Bess and Blake,
 
I love being your Dad. It’s the toughest job that I’ve ever loved. And calling fatherhood a job isn’t really accurate. It’s really a vocation; almost an obsession or a passion. I need to be your dad! You kids (and your kids) bring balance and purpose to my life; you make it (whatever it might be at the moment) worthwhile and meaningful.
 
I’m not suggesting that I’m a great dad or even a good one but I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE. And mistakes that I’ve made with you (and there were plenty) I’m trying to make up for with your children. It’s my second chance.
 
When people ask me what age I enjoyed the most with each of you, I always say “All of them.” And it’s true. I loved having babies (even with colic and dirty diapers) because there is nothing sweeter than baby milk-breath and skin so soft that you can barely feel it with rough dad hands. I can still smell of Baby Magic Lotion® after all these years. I loved you as toddlers and pre-schoolers because watching as you discovered new things each day gave me a renewed interest in learning myself. Plus Fisher-Price® toys rocked! I loved your grade school years – the uniforms, the lunch boxes, the report cards – and papers, papers, everywhere! Memories of Cub Scouts, Brownies, First Communions, Christmas Pageants (um-diddle-diddle-um-diddle-eye!) still warm my heart. I loved your high school years; watching you develop before my very eyes from awkward teenagers into two young men and a young woman. I loved every basketball game, wrestling meet, school play and sports banquet and AFS dinner. At the time I didn’t fully appreciate being your Scout Master or the Chairman of The Booster Club but those experiences made me proud of you then (even if I was only Scout Master or Chairman because no one else raised their hand). You were (and are) so smart; so confident; so beautiful. Your teen years -what an amazing transformation! 

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, you were grown and gone! But not really gone (not gone from me). Gone on to do big things, important things but still carrying Dad around in your hearts (I hope). Your adult years – The Air Force for you Tyson and University for you Bess and Blake. And then marriages and careers and other grown up stuff. Now Tyson you’re a Dad, too. And Bess you’re a Mommy of two. How did it happen so fast?

Ty, Bess and Blake

My happiest and saddest times have been as your dad. My greatest joys and greatest heartaches have come from you. But mostly joy and ALWAYS love. Pure love – dad love. There is something almost primal about my need to love and protect you – maybe its self-preservation. I don’t know, maybe when the first dad (Adam?) crawled out of the primordial ooze we were all pre-wired to protect our offspring in order to make certain our species would survive. Who knows?

What I do know is that you three are the manifestation of the love that Mom and I share. Seems almost greedy – to have a love as beautiful as ours and three remarkable children to boot. But I’ll take it!
 
And Charlise, Anna and Noah?  Well they’re just the icing on the cake!
 
Peace and love,
 
Dad

P.S. One of toughest times for me was when I moved to Wisconsin ahead of you and Mom and we spent most of that first year apart. This songs bring back that bittersweet memory. (The video is kind of lame but the lyrics still get to me).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1yTWauVjwo

Business As Usual

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I was in New York this week to meet with customers. That’s my story – it was business as usual. Fly into La Guardia; take the car service to my hotel in Mid-town; grab a quick-lunch; make my appointments. Easy-sneezy.

But New York is never easy. And New York in summer (with all the wonderful tourists) is really not easy. Now I know that for a lot of folks New York is very exciting and a “first time destination” but I’m there several times a year and I’m (usually) on a mission to get there; get it done; get out. It’s not that I don’t like New York – I actually love New York, I just really don’t have time for staring up at the skyscrapers or leisurely walking down 5th Avenue or Times Square – I’ve got to be somewhere; with someone; doing something REALLY REALLY IMPORTANT! It’s just business as usual.

Now what is it that I do actually? It’s a bit of mystery. And I want to keep it that way. Now that I have international accounts, I suppose that you could say that I’m an “International Man of Mystery” (but in the boring world of retail store fixture design, manufacturing, and installation). But that’s beside the point. I’ve “boiled it down” to this – my customers give me “pretty pictures” and I make “pretty fixtures” (no not light fixtures – we build cabinets, counters, racks, display walls – it’s the stuff that the stuff that you suckers – sorry consumers – buy is stacked and hung on). Very important work – without me you wouldn’t experience the joy of relinquishing your disposable income in well-appointed department and specialty stores. You’d be buying your pickles out of a barrel. That’s all I can tell you. How the magic happens must remain a mystery. The truth is: I’m not even sure.

Bryant Park with the New York Public Library in the background

This week in New York one of my customers had a conflict and at the last-minute she cancelled our meeting (we opted for speaking on the phone, which for the record I could have done from St. Louis) so I had a free afternoon. And I walked. I walked from Bryant Park in midtown to Ground Zero downtown. For one sweet afternoon in June it wasn’t business as usual. I actually S L O W E D  D O W N and walked (kind of like a tourist) through some of my favorite neighborhoods (Flat Iron, Chelsea, SoHo, Greenwich Village) and parks (Madison Park, Union Square and Washington Square Park) –  it was such a guilty pleasure!

My day ended with a brief meeting and a great dinner with my best customer (and friend), some great conversation and (a little) wine. Finally we went to a roof top bar on 5th Ave for (a few) drinks. My laugh muscles were sufficiently “worked out”.  That night we celebrated the conclusion of some successful projects. We shared fond memories from the past. And we looked forward to future endeavors. This is how business should be done – in a city that never sleeps, with spectacular weather, with people who you respect and admire, at good restaurants and nice night clubs.

Monday I guess it’s back to business as usual (maybe). But it will remain a mystery!

Peace,

Denis

Travis

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Today is my son-in-law Travis’s birthday. He’s a gem.

Not only is Travis a good husband and father, but he is a good man. And I love him, too. The way that he adores and treats Bess; the way he loves and protects Anna and Noah; the way he remembers to thank God for his blessings each day; makes me realize that I have the best son-in-law in the world.

Travis is always the first to step up and help out, regardless of the need. He brings tireless energy and fun to even the most mundane tasks. He is selfless and is totally committed to his family (I’m lucky to count myself among them). He is a devoted husband, father, son, and friend. He teaches Anna and Noah each day by his example, and I am thankful for his  love, patience, and gentleness toward them.

On the less admirable side: it turns out that Travis and I have a lot in common (which I think is funny; he might find it frightening) – bad puns, lame jokes, (some would say) annoying habits, the ‘need’ to be right about EVERYTHING, attention deficit disorder, laughing too loud at most times, innapropriate (again subjective) comments, and the lack of a brain filter – (it’s okay to think it but you shouldn’t always say it).

Anna, Bess, Travis, and Noah

Travis,

You are exactly the kind of husband I want for my daughter and you are exactly the kind of father I want for my grandchildren. Plus you are my friend and my son-in-law AND in that order. I can’t imagine life without you and all of the blessings that you have brought to our family. 

Happy Birthday!

The older I get, something, something…

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I turned a year older this week – 56! The number doesn’t really bother me but the statistics do. So as with most unpleasantness, I choose to ignore the statisticians. I’ve been told that men my age are prone to heart disease, prostate cancer, midlife crisis, beer bellies, bald heads, erectile dysfunction, and host of other maladies that Zymbalta or some other wonder drug can cure but with frequent, painful and serious side effects. Oh joy!

The truth is that I feel pretty good most days. And (because I prefer to look at myself in the mirror without my bifocals on) I still look pretty good, too. So life goes on! Yes, the years tick by but I don’t care. I’ve decided to live life to the fullest (or as full as a 56 year-old can!) And currently I have no complaints.

I’m blessed; I know that I am. And upon reflection God (or my guardian angel) has had my back many times in this life of mine. I’m in love with my wife. I have three great kids and three beautiful grandkids. And we all have fun together. Especially the grandkids and me – which is what makes 56 tolerable and even fun most days. When I asked Anna, “Why am I such a lucky Pawpaw?” She exclaimed, “Because you’re MY Pawpaw!” How true; how true!

And of course turning a year older ALWAYS beats the alternative.

Birthday dinner with some of my favorite people

This week I’ve been able to celebrate my birthday on the beach in Florida and I’ve cherished every moment. Playing  in the sand or splashing in the pool with a 3-year old and an 8-month old makes a 56-year old forget (for a little while) about work, bills, the national debt, the likelihood that there won’t be social security when (or if) I retire, etc.,etc. The afternoon (obligatory) Margaritas help, too!

So bring on the birthday candles! I plan on running away to the beach again next year.  Fifty-seven be damned!

Peace,

Denis

I grow old, I grow old; I will wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled ~ T. S. Elliott