Grandfathers

Did I Ever Tell You About The Time…?

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

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

Fatherhood (and Grandfatherhood)

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

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

“You Know What?”

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Charlise ~ The Little Patriot

“You know what?” is my six year-old granddaughter’s frequent question. When I respond, “No. What?” I am usually regaled with any number of astonishing facts (some are even based in reality). I love that Charlise is so full of fun and energy with a heart so big it fills up the room. Every new experience and adventure is met with the same never-ending enthusiam and joy. She just loves life! And she loves to learn new things. Which comes in handy when you’re a kindergartener and you’re expected to learn something new every day. What makes the “you know what?” so much fun for me is the fact that Charlise is genuinely fastinated with each new discovery and is usually just bubbling over with the need to share her newfound wisdom.

I can’t remember the last time that I was that happy to learn something new. What would it take to get me that excited? When did I stop wanting to know more? When did my brain get full??? I’m not sure but I think that I’ve lost my desire to learn new things. I don’t really believe it’s true that you “can’t teach an old dog new tricks”. I just think that most old dogs like me would rather not be bothered. I suppose I’m sort of at that “lay in the sun and scratch” phase of my life – let the puppies play fetch.

But being with Charlise renews my soul. She gets me excited about learning. Her zeal is contagious and I want to take part in her knowledge quest. So we’re learning some things together. And she’s teaching me some new things, too. And occasionally I even teach her one of my old tricks.

But with all this learning she’s losing some of her wide-eyed innocence. She’s a big girl now but it seems like only yesterday that I held her in my arms for the first time. And there’s a little bit of me that needs that baby girl back in my arms. I love her so much!

“But you know what?” She’s also learned that sometimes Pawpaw needs to hold his girl and she allows me that sweet pleasure. She also humors me with games that she’s outgrown (because she’s so smart). We still “hunt” for wild chihuahuas up on the terrace even though now she knows that there really are no such things; she just can’t break my heart, so she still plays along. And that’s what REALLY breaks my heart – that she pretends because she thinks I still want to hunt for wild chihuahuas (and I do). Which lets me know that she loves me, too.

“And you know what?” This growing up stuff is hard work – especially for sappy Pawpaws. But I’m learning more and more each day. For instance, I was informed that I looked very patriotic on Memorial Day with my blue shorts, red shirt and white hair – who knew?

Peace,

Denis