Our Story
Over the past seven days,
Since the arrival of your two precious, precocious grandchildren —
Savvy, age nine, and Parker, seven —
From the faraway kingdom of Southern California,
I, a seventy-year-old father, with a grown daughter and son,
Have been transformed into a young parent again,
With all the compassionate attachment to the magic that kids do,
Just by waving imagination's wand, saying its incantations,
As they unloose fantastical rabbit-bats from hat-shaped caves.
Having shared with them and you, "Grandma" Linda,
Two screened-in-porch picnics, a movie at the theater,
A swim in my high-rise's pool,
An afternoon visit to a downtown sculpture park,
Dinner at a pan-Asian restaurant,
Several contretemps, the usual warnings, deprivations, reprieves,
Readings from The Lorax and If I Ran the Circus,
Not to mention forays into the arcane deck of Pokémon cards,
I now feel like a family member.
What this says about us, Linda, seems clear enough, to me:
Everything we do comes easily, naturally, when we're together,
Whether it's mundane, romantic, serious, or fun.
Through it all, we retain our independent identities,
Even as we engage in a harmony that brings our souls closer.
In the remaining days of Savvy and Parker's stay,
Will I be the Lorax again or maybe Pinocchio?
And when they're gone, who will we be?
Does it really matter, as long as love keeps telling our story?
07/20/10
|