I have two granddaughters: Brooke, who’s a little over two and now April, just over a month old. They are, quite simply, the loves of my life. Having grandchildren is an oddly wonderful thing, and it’s taken me a while to figure out why. After much contemplation, I have come to the conclusion it’s because they are my two tickets to eternity.
Having grandchildren is different than having children. The enormous task of getting my two, Laura and Joe, to adulthood was a daunting one. Like many people, my life has not gone smoothly, and I once hit hard times that nearly brought me down. There was little time to appreciate the fact that my two offspring made sure that a part of me (and my wife, Trish, of course) would live on.
I think this is because my children's lives are in the vicinity of my own. By this I mean that they will live many years past our time on earth, but the grandkids, well they are something else. They might live to see the 22nd century, and their children, my great-grandchildren surely will.
As I think about my own ancestors, I only have a vague idea of who they were and where they were from. My grandparents and great-grandparents were from the Azores Islands and the island of Madeira. I know their names. I know where they were born. I know they were probably poor people who sacrificed all to immigrate to Hawaii in the late 1800’s to make a better life for themselves and their children—and me.
But that’s all I know.
Now my granddaughters, if they are ever interested, will know a lot more about their past. They will not only know the names of their grandparents, they will see color photographs and videos from when they were young. And if they deem it important, they will be able to tell their children and the children that follow about us. And my wife and I will all live on through them.
I don’t know why the hell this is so important me. I know that their interest in me—if any--will be more of a curiosity than anything else. And it may not be until later in their lives when the prospect of eternity faces them in the eyes that they might care about those who came before them.
I come from humble beginnings. I have lived a simple life. I’ve loved. I've listened to a lot of rock and roll along the way, and I've tried to do the best I can to be an honerable person. I have a sense inside of me that the universe is vast and wonderful. And the day is coming when I will discover all the truths it has to offer. I want my children and grandchildren to remember me my wife and to have productive happy lives of their own.
I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
David
4 CORNERS CAFÉ UPDATE: I have elected not to go to the café or even drive past it since the incident with Irby. I now take a different route through Walnut Grove when I go to visit my daughter. I feel like I’m living an episode of “The Twilight Zone”. It’s not a good feeling. I also think that the café is not through with me. I think it’s been knocking on my dreams. More than once I have awakened in a cold sweat not knowing why. And just last week I swear I saw Betty Jo in Lira’s supermarket in Rio Vista. I turned the corner of an isle with my basket, saw her still wearing her uniform. I jerked back, and when I managed to look again she was gone. Had I really seen her? Don’t know. But I sure as hell care.
Having grandchildren is different than having children. The enormous task of getting my two, Laura and Joe, to adulthood was a daunting one. Like many people, my life has not gone smoothly, and I once hit hard times that nearly brought me down. There was little time to appreciate the fact that my two offspring made sure that a part of me (and my wife, Trish, of course) would live on.
I think this is because my children's lives are in the vicinity of my own. By this I mean that they will live many years past our time on earth, but the grandkids, well they are something else. They might live to see the 22nd century, and their children, my great-grandchildren surely will.
As I think about my own ancestors, I only have a vague idea of who they were and where they were from. My grandparents and great-grandparents were from the Azores Islands and the island of Madeira. I know their names. I know where they were born. I know they were probably poor people who sacrificed all to immigrate to Hawaii in the late 1800’s to make a better life for themselves and their children—and me.
But that’s all I know.
Now my granddaughters, if they are ever interested, will know a lot more about their past. They will not only know the names of their grandparents, they will see color photographs and videos from when they were young. And if they deem it important, they will be able to tell their children and the children that follow about us. And my wife and I will all live on through them.
I don’t know why the hell this is so important me. I know that their interest in me—if any--will be more of a curiosity than anything else. And it may not be until later in their lives when the prospect of eternity faces them in the eyes that they might care about those who came before them.
I come from humble beginnings. I have lived a simple life. I’ve loved. I've listened to a lot of rock and roll along the way, and I've tried to do the best I can to be an honerable person. I have a sense inside of me that the universe is vast and wonderful. And the day is coming when I will discover all the truths it has to offer. I want my children and grandchildren to remember me my wife and to have productive happy lives of their own.
I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
David
4 CORNERS CAFÉ UPDATE: I have elected not to go to the café or even drive past it since the incident with Irby. I now take a different route through Walnut Grove when I go to visit my daughter. I feel like I’m living an episode of “The Twilight Zone”. It’s not a good feeling. I also think that the café is not through with me. I think it’s been knocking on my dreams. More than once I have awakened in a cold sweat not knowing why. And just last week I swear I saw Betty Jo in Lira’s supermarket in Rio Vista. I turned the corner of an isle with my basket, saw her still wearing her uniform. I jerked back, and when I managed to look again she was gone. Had I really seen her? Don’t know. But I sure as hell care.
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