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family sketches
Nov. 16th, 2003 10:20 pmI've been spending the last few days with my father, my sister and her kids. We just watched Finding Nemo (a wonderful, wonderful movie; I'm heartbroken that Disney has abandoned traditional hand-drawn animation, but movies like this do ease the sting a little); now, the rest of the family is in bed, and for the moment, I have the house to myself.
It's been wonderful, although disorienting in a certain way, spending time with them, especially the kids- months often go by between visits, and when I see them, it's like watching time-lapse photography. Patrick, who I remember as a red-faced newborn, stands more than four feet tall now; he's planning to take piano lessons in the fall, as well as playing football, learning beginning computer programming, and possibly studing karate- all at the advanced age of nine. He's the sort of kid who's going to grow up to be student body president; very obedient to his mother, although always ready for some (mild) mischief with Uncle Coyote.
Meaghan, their only daughter, needs more delicate handling. She's off the chart with IQ tests (although she's still only five, she can read- the only child in her class who can), but a bit more of a specialized case: her classroom performance varies wildly according to the teacher she's given, and her parents have by far the most trouble enforcing discipline in her case. She can be stubborn, although generally good-hearted- all of which which is to say, she reminds me greatly of me at that age. Also like the younger me, she's unpredictable in her reactions to people, even from day to day; she'd barely speak to me when I showed up at Sarah's house, but when we were watching Finding Nemo, she was sitting on my lap, feeding me popcorn. (It may help that I can make faces that send her into peals of laughter; uncles need such skills.)
My younger nephew, Matty, has Down's syndrome; although he has trouble enunciating words, his cognitive functions are near normal. (He spent a happy while this afternoon showing Uncle Coyote how to set up the PlayStation.) I can remember my sister on the phone with me, telling me how the amniocentesis had revealed Down's syndrome; I remember both of us in tears, and wondering what sort of a childhood he could wind up having. Seven years later, I almost never think of the Down's unless someone asks me about it; he's just as curious, playful, and loving as his siblings, and when I show up at my sister's, he's always the first one into my arms.
Motherhood has fulfilled Sarah, who's four years older than I; she's by far the more mature, generous, and selfless of the two of us, and those qualities have served her in excellent stead with the children. She and Daniel have put limitless work into making jobs, house renovation, and a million other tasks work in the context of raising their family; if anything can give me faith in fatherhood and marriage (for myself, that is), it's watching the sheer completion that her family has brought her. Dad feels the same way; at 77, he's beginning to slow down, but he and I marvel afresh every time we watch my sister's family as a unit, so different from the family she grew up in.
And me? I wouldn't even begin to know how to discuss how I've changed since those days. As much as I backslide, dawdle, and dither, I've taken on tasks that would have daunted the younger me utterly, and fulfilled them, and searched for more...
*user looks at an ancient VHS copy of Citizen Kane on his desk, dating back to the mid-80s*
...although in some ways, I haven't changed a bit. Thank goodness.
It's been wonderful, although disorienting in a certain way, spending time with them, especially the kids- months often go by between visits, and when I see them, it's like watching time-lapse photography. Patrick, who I remember as a red-faced newborn, stands more than four feet tall now; he's planning to take piano lessons in the fall, as well as playing football, learning beginning computer programming, and possibly studing karate- all at the advanced age of nine. He's the sort of kid who's going to grow up to be student body president; very obedient to his mother, although always ready for some (mild) mischief with Uncle Coyote.
Meaghan, their only daughter, needs more delicate handling. She's off the chart with IQ tests (although she's still only five, she can read- the only child in her class who can), but a bit more of a specialized case: her classroom performance varies wildly according to the teacher she's given, and her parents have by far the most trouble enforcing discipline in her case. She can be stubborn, although generally good-hearted- all of which which is to say, she reminds me greatly of me at that age. Also like the younger me, she's unpredictable in her reactions to people, even from day to day; she'd barely speak to me when I showed up at Sarah's house, but when we were watching Finding Nemo, she was sitting on my lap, feeding me popcorn. (It may help that I can make faces that send her into peals of laughter; uncles need such skills.)
My younger nephew, Matty, has Down's syndrome; although he has trouble enunciating words, his cognitive functions are near normal. (He spent a happy while this afternoon showing Uncle Coyote how to set up the PlayStation.) I can remember my sister on the phone with me, telling me how the amniocentesis had revealed Down's syndrome; I remember both of us in tears, and wondering what sort of a childhood he could wind up having. Seven years later, I almost never think of the Down's unless someone asks me about it; he's just as curious, playful, and loving as his siblings, and when I show up at my sister's, he's always the first one into my arms.
Motherhood has fulfilled Sarah, who's four years older than I; she's by far the more mature, generous, and selfless of the two of us, and those qualities have served her in excellent stead with the children. She and Daniel have put limitless work into making jobs, house renovation, and a million other tasks work in the context of raising their family; if anything can give me faith in fatherhood and marriage (for myself, that is), it's watching the sheer completion that her family has brought her. Dad feels the same way; at 77, he's beginning to slow down, but he and I marvel afresh every time we watch my sister's family as a unit, so different from the family she grew up in.
And me? I wouldn't even begin to know how to discuss how I've changed since those days. As much as I backslide, dawdle, and dither, I've taken on tasks that would have daunted the younger me utterly, and fulfilled them, and searched for more...
*user looks at an ancient VHS copy of Citizen Kane on his desk, dating back to the mid-80s*
...although in some ways, I haven't changed a bit. Thank goodness.
