For a brief time last week, my household echoed with pitter-patter of tiny feet. Because of a renovation project at my ex-wife’s house, Charlie the dog and my older son stayed with me for five days. Granted, the Elder’s shoe size is now the same as mine, but his status as my firstborn allows his gunboats the adjective, “tiny.”
For a brief time last week, my household echoed with pitter-patter of tiny feet. Because of a renovation project at my ex-wife’s house, Charlie the dog and my older son stayed with me for five days. Granted, the Elder’s shoe size is now the same as mine, but his status as my firstborn allows his gunboats the adjective, “tiny.”
The prospect of a guest gave me some incentive to straighten up the place. Vaguely categorized stacks of sheet music covering the coffee table found their way to a drawer. The unsorted everything collection topping the kitchen table was culled to provide enough space for two to eat a meal.
A couple of hours went into preparing the extra bedroom. The futon was opened up and dressed with sheets, pillow, and blanket; a few boxes, not yet unpacked from three years ago, were removed from the room to be sorted or stored in the basement.
The Elder keeps a busy calendar, as do I. Thus, we weren’t running into each other all that often while temporarily living in the same place. Still, the incidental contact was gratifying. Being able to greet him first thing in the morning and to later say goodnight brought back pleasant memories of his childhood.
And how nice it was to have someone to cook for! More often than not, it is tough to summon much enthusiasm to cook for one. With the boy here, I gave myself permission to make salads that consisted of something more than just lettuce, and even pulled out a couple of favorite recipes from his childhood. Even when his schedule kept him from dining with me, there was something supremely satisfying about having a freshly prepared dinner awaiting his return from work.
Even when cooking was not an option — he currently finds breakfast unnecessary — I merrily thrust a plum, peach, or banana in his hand as he left for the day. Again, I reminisced about my sons as they grew up and how feeding them was a special joy.
Moreover, I enjoyed having someone to recount my day to, and to inquire as to how his day was. These discussions amounted to only a few words, but it felt good to share with somebody I care about.
When the five days were over, Charlie and the Elder moved back to their mother’s place. My house felt emptier than it had in a very long time. Still, the rooms now echo with a new set of memories of when my boy stayed with me. Those echoes help fill the perceived empty space.
Charlie is with me now for long weekends, the latest strategy in the joint custody arrangement I have with my former spouse. He is not as engaging as either of his human “big brothers,” but he is good company.
He is also a good reminder of the finite nature of time with those we love. I’m going to take him for a good long walk, then plan the next occasion when he and my sons can come over for a good meal.
Pat Grimes, a former South Bay resident, writes from Ypsilanti, Mich. He can be reached at pgwriter@inbox.com
