Profound conversation with my 2.5 year old

We are in Florida. It’s a pretty nice place. Scratch that. It’s a very nice place. And the place we are staying is even nicer than that. We are among the very privileged, to be sure. For starters, it is warm and sunny here. A winning combination. For another thing, there are lots of birds all over the place. And if you think that dinosaurs are extinct, then you should spend some time observing a pelican before you really make up your mind. They are as prehistoric looking as anything you will find in any dinosaur book. What else… family. Our family is here – on the Smith side. And that’s nice. Not quite all of the family, we are still missing my brother in law – Greg. But 10/11ths of us are here. And Oma is here as well (Hil’s maternal grandmother – technically not a Smith but as present and involved as you could ask any 98year old to be). And then, if you ask me, the nicest thing of all about being here, and I’m just offering my personal preference here, nicer than the pool, or the little lakes or the biking trails, or the good food, there is the beach.

To me, the beach is as good as it gets. Take a wide open space, add sand. So much sand. Birds to look at. Other kids, families, and adults (most of whom are in a good mood because they too are at the beach). Shells to pick up and examine. Snacks. All that other stuff from the ocean that washes in that can be examined. Plants, dead stuff, sticks, more shells. Digging. Building. Knocking down. Repeating. And there is no agenda. No program directing what happens next. Just straight go with the flow time. Its awesome. And the kids come home hungry and tired.

Anyway, yesterday, due to a variety of factors, I had to park about 1km away from where we were actually going to be playing on the beach. A hardship I was willing to endure, given that the parking spot was free and that getting from the parking spot to the beach spot where we were hanging out involved me walking about 1km along the beach in the bright morning sun. No problem. Of course, it also meant that I had to walk 1km back to the car when it was time to go – and Ruby came with me.

As I was pushing her along in the stroller, we got to talking. She’s at a fascinating stage now where her language skills are developing rapidly and you can have a real conversation with her when you are together one-on-one. I asked her to put her hat on, and that’s where it began: why? Was the response I got. So I did my best to explain sunburns, sun screen, the fact that she has red hair and fair skin so we need to be extra careful in the sun, ozone depletion, radiation from the sun, wave-particle theory about light – or whatever that stuff was that I don’t really remember from 2^nd year physics, burning hydrogen, the fact that the earth orbits the sun, the fact that we are on earth and that earth is part of our solar system and that’s in our galaxy and that’s in the universe. I was just trying to keep up with her constant request of “why?” as each question seems to need a new answer and repeating myself just seems to frustrate her. While I don’t think I had to make anything up, I’m sure that I didn’t have the facts all spot on either. She didn’t seem to mind though.

Whenever I find myself in these 2year old conversations, I am always curious about how much of what I say she is actually taking in. Its hard to get any kind of measure of her retention, and I’m not sure I really care if she remembers any of it – just so long as she feels that she is part of the conversation. Regardless of whether she is taking any of it in or not, I am convinced that the lights are on and the wheels are turning, because, inevitably, these conversations of why, why, why always lead somewhere. Take yesterday for example.

We get back to the car after 2+ hours at the beach and as I’m strapping her into the car seat I remark that when we get home, we will get to see Oma. By way of background, Oma (Hil’s grandmother, Ruby’s great grandmother) had just arrived that morning with YaYa (Hil’s mother, Ruby’s grandmother). Oma was joining us in Florida so that we could spend some family time together after Elvins, her husband of nearly 70 years, at the age of 97, had died this past Saturday morning. And here is what I got back from Ruby:

Ruby: Just Oma. No Opa.

Drew: That’s right Ruby.

Ruby: Opa died. (We’ve been doing our best to talk about it with the kids and what that means – i.e. you can’t talk or eat or breath anymore, your body doesn’t work, you aren’t awake)

Drew: Yes. Opa died.

Ruby: He’s not at the hospital anymore.

Drew: No he isn’t. That’s right.

Ruby: He’s not sick anymore.

Drew: No. He isn’t.

Ruby: He’s happy now.

And that’s when I just didn’t know what to say back to her. That’s me, not knowing what to do next. Beyond talking about what it means to be dead from a very factual point of view, we haven’t spent much time talking with the kids about what it might mean to be dead from a “spiritual” point of view. So it is hard for me to say where this observation of hers might be coming from.

I don’t know what you believe in. In fact, there are many days when I don’t really know what I believe in. I don’t know if you agree with Ruby or not. I don’t know if Elvins would agree with Ruby or not. He certainly wasn’t someone who would shy away from the topic of faith in discussion though. If I have my memories correct, he described himself as agnostic. A word that I’ve had to look up the definition for on more than one occasion, including 60seconds before I wrote this sentence. But no matter how you slice it, whether you agree with Ruby or not, at this point, I am both comfortable and pleased to know that she is remembering her Opa as someone who she would choose to describe as happy. As far as one word summaries of Elvins Spencer go, I think she is pretty accurate. I had the good fortune to know Elvins for 10 years, he more than took me on as an “adoptive” grandson, and while I’m sure that he wasn’t happy all of the time, he certainly was happy a lot of the time.

Happy to meet you and happy to learn your story, who you were, where you came from and what you did. Happy to tell you a story about who he was, where he came from, and what he had done, or was about to do next. Happy to go for a walk along the Thames. Happy to tell you about his grandchildren, or his great grandchildren. Happy to get you a glass of his homemade red wine, or a beer, or a scoop of ice cream. Happy to clear your dishes from the table. Happy to loan you a book. Happy to show you whatever post card or photograph or news clipping or letter from a distant relative he was carrying around in his pocket that day. Happy to play peek-a-boo with a grandchild. Happy to tell you another story about who he was, where he came from, and what he had done, or what he was about to do next. Happy to provide you with whatever encouragement you needed for whatever you were about to embark on. Happy to eat a second plate of food. Happy to stop at a water fountain. Happy to hold a baby. Happy to tell you what the weather was doing on this day 50 years ago. Happy to affirm you for whatever effort you were pursuing. Happy to be on email. Happy to provide commentary on the changes he’d seen in his lifetime. Happy to walk you through his guest book and show you just where you had signed it the last time you visited. Happy to talk (dare I say brag?) about how great his family was to anyone who would listen. Happy to tell you just one more story, “if you don’t mind me continuing,” about who he was, where he came from, and what he had done, or was about to do next. Happy to be present when everyone else he loved was around. Happy to tell you about what he was looking forward to. Happy to be alive.

I know I miss him.