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I Don’t Remember Getting Older
Jan. 14th, 2019 03:34 pmIs this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?
I don’t remember getting older,
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn’t it yesterday when they were small?
Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly flow the days.
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blooming even as we gaze.
Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years.
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears.
(Sunrise Sunset: Bock & Harnick – 1964)
When do a father and mother realize that they have reached the tipping point of parenthood – that pivotal moment when their children are actually more knowledgeable and capable than they? Is there a certain age one reaches, or is it about diminishing mental capacities? Brain farts must certainly be one indicator, or perhaps the number of times you walk into a room and forget what brought you there. Maybe it is about getting older. I suppose I’ve always KNOWN that my two children, Tony and Teresa, had grown up and caught up to us. I’d watched them leave home for college, graduate, begin careers, marry, begin families, and buy their own homes. But it wasn’t until Kathy and I traveled with “Prisa” to New York City that it really hit me. It was there that I felt our roles had switched – the child was guiding the parent! You see, in the space of five months I have experienced that moment with both of our children in very different locales, Dublin and New York. Strange that it would take two cities, so far away from our homes in Los Angeles, to illicit a sense of a paradigm shift in our relations with our children.
The idea of traveling to New York with our daughter grew from a phone call she made to us on the night of last year's Golden Globe Awards. At the conclusion of the show on television, Prisa called us with news that the actor Jeff Daniels was starring in the new Aaron Sorkin Broadway production of Harper Lee’s classic novel To Kill a Mockingbird. After the phone call, Kathy tossed up the idea of taking Prisa to New York as a Christmas present. The more we talked and laughed about the idea, the more we realized that traveling to New York with our baby girl to see a new Broadway play was absurdly brilliant. That same evening we called her back with our proposition.
You need to understand that there is a special relationship between To Kill a Mockingbird and our daughter. It was the first novel I was ever able to convince Prisa to read. I did it by telling her that the central female character of the story, Scout, reminded me of her. I coaxed her into first seeing the movie version with Gregory Peck, and then tempted her into read the novel by saying that the book offered further tales and more information about the precocious tomboy, Scout. To date, I believe To Kill a Mockingbird is the only novel that Prisa read at my recommendation – and she loved it. I’m secretly convinced that she felt that Harper Lee was describing her and her relationship with her brother Tony in the story, and the book planted the seed of Prisa’s budding love of literature and the skill of writing. So the prospect of taking her to see a new production of the novel was an opportunity Kathy and I did not want to miss.
There was an assumption being made in that last sentence – that Kathy and I were taking our daughter to New York. It implies that we were in control and Prisa was coming as our guest. Now Kathy and I had been in New York City nine years earlier celebrating her 60th birthday. We had explored the city together, walking Uptown and Downtown, strolling through Central Park, and masterfully utilizing the subway to travel to the Bronx, the Battery, Wall Street, Columbia University, and Grand Central Station. We were confident in our sense of direction and remembered the street names and numbers we traveled. All of those abilities deserted us on the first day, the minute we stepped outside the Hilton Midtown Hotel on 6th Avenue. Even following the directions to Rockefeller Center, given by the hotel clerk, proved difficult. It wasn’t until Prisa stepped in, reading the Google map directions on her cell phone, which we found confusing, that we reached our destination. Over the two days Prisa stayed with us, I can only imagine her shaking her head in amusement over our directionless antics, and our wishy-washy decision-making. The second day in Manhattan, after visiting the 9-11 Memorial Museum at the World Trade Center and walking over to the Brookfield Place shopping mall on West Street to look for a place to eat lunch, I was overwhelmed by the size and seeming confusion of the food court. Once again Prisa took over, guiding us to an empty table overlooking the Hudson River and the New Jersey shore, and telling us to sit there until she had scouted the various offerings and came back with recommendations. Later, after taking a carriage ride through Central Park together, I imagined that she felt a great sense of relief at safely depositing her two parents back at the hotel, and went off to explore Manhattan on her own.
Traveling to New York to see a new Broadway play was a dream come true for me, and having Prisa there to share the experience made the whole evening magical. Yet, even while walking to Broadway, through Times Square, on our last evening together, we were totally dependant on Prisa’s guidance and directions to find The Blue Fin Restaurant for dinner and the Shubert Theatre for the play. Despite the fine meal, the great play, and the fabulous conversation before and after the play, I could not dispel a nagging sense of uselessness, and the feeling that an oceanic tidal shift in our relationship with our children had occurred.
I had felt a hint of this shifting landscape in Ireland, four months earlier, when Kathy and I met up with Toñito and his wife Nikki in Dublin for dinner. Kathy had been planning our return trip to Ireland for a year, and we were surprised to learn that Tony and Nikki had decided to visit Scotland and Ireland at about the same time in September. I believe it was Kathy who first floated the prospect of trying to meet up in Dublin, if our timelines and itineraries matched up. At first, I dismissed the idea as a fanciful wish and assumed Tony and Nikki would concentrate on their plans and around their own schedule and interests. So I was surprised when Toñito called Kathy sometime in August asking for the specific dates we would be in Ireland to see if he could coordinate a reunion. After much discussion with his mother, it was decided that he would try to meet us for dinner on our last night in Dublin, October 1. Even through Kathy never got a clear picture of Tony and Nikki’s specific travel plans in Scotland, she fixed on the idea of our reunion and believed it would take place. I, on the other hand, must confess of being a pessimist about nebulous plans actually working out, and throughout our travels in Ireland, whenever I asked Kathy for specific information about Tony’s itinerary and received a shrug with an “I’m not sure” response, my dubiousness multiplied. I tried dismissing the nagging suspicion that this reunion would never actually take place, and concentrated on enjoying my trip through Ireland with Kathleen.
You have to realize that Toñito was a sweet boy growing up. He was always thoughtful and considerate to his sister and us throughout his childhood, youth, and young adulthood. He shared his toys and sporting equipment with Teresa, included her in all his games and computer activities, and spent countless hours reading to her, and listening to her early attempts. He remembers birthdays and holidays, and always makes a point of attending family functions, celebrations, and weddings. But as often happens in the lives of maturing men and adults, new relationships, responsibilities, and personal interests and habits begin to dominate and take precedence. Tony follows his own schedule and pursues his own way of doing things. I suspected that Toñito would do what I would have done in his place while traveling with Nikki in Scotland – while always having the intention of making the reunion on October 1st, the dictates of time, travel, and hardship would determine if he ever actually made it. I had experienced first hand the trials of train and automobile driving in Ireland, so I could imagine that the difficulties of crossing the Irish Sea and traveling into Dublin on a specific afternoon and evening would cause him to give up. It is what I would do.
On our last day in Dublin, Kathy and I did some last minute separate sightseeing, packing, and waited for Toñito and Nikki to notify us of their arrival in Ireland. We waited and waited, with Kathy never doubting, and stoutly putting up with my pessimistic vibes and comments, as I got hungry and then sleepy after two cocktails. At about 8 o’clock Tony finally called to tell Kathleen that they had arrived at a seaside bed and breakfast to the north of Dublin and planned on driving into the city. Kathy advised them to forgo the driving and instead taking the DART electric train to a station close to our hotel. Although it seemed to me that her suggestions were only complicating things further, Tony agreed and said he would meet us there. At about 9 o’clock we walked to Pearse Station, keeping a look out for Tony and Nikki on the multiple elevated tracks. As one, and then two trains arrived, Kathy said in an excited voice, “There he is!” and I too spotted the tall standing figure through the window of the train. Tony and Nikki had made it after all.
There is something special about meeting up and dining with loved ones, and close family members and friends in a distant or foreign city, far from home. The unlikelihood of such a reunion gives it a magical air and a timeless feeling. Watching Toñito descending on the station elevator changed the ambiance and tone of the evening for me. By overcoming time, distance, and hardships, Tony had achieved what I considered impossible for myself. At the nearby Kennedy’s Restaurant and Bar we laughed and talked together all evening. Tony and Nikki recounted their travels in Scotland and sought our suggestions about possible sites in Dublin. I smiled happily throughout the evening, listening to the talk and descriptions, but was a bit surprised at Tony’s response when I voiced my doubts about this reunion actually taking place. He laughed kindly as he put his arm around my shoulders and said, “Of course we were going to make it tonight, Dad! I wouldn’t miss celebrating your birthday in Ireland.”
So on two happy and magical evenings, in two faraway cities, spending private time with our son and daughter made me feel a little nostalgic of times long past. I loved the fact that we were together, talking about our travels through Dublin and New York, and the new theatrical adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird. We discussed, agreed and disagreed about things, and spent much of the time laughing and smiling, but there was also a bitter sweet aura of time having passed us by – that Kathy and I were no longer as capable and able as we once were. We weren’t the primary caretakers. Over time, Toñito and Prisa had gently usurped that title. They had families, careers, homes, and futures, and they organized and managed their time based on changing demands and responsibilities. They were now the grownups, and were far more capable of traveling, negotiating new cities, and making quick decisions than Kathy or I. I suppose this sad realization would have come to us eventually, but I’m glad it happened when it did – in the company of our children, in two special places.
Is this the little boy at play?
I don’t remember getting older,
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn’t it yesterday when they were small?
Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly flow the days.
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blooming even as we gaze.
Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years.
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears.
(Sunrise Sunset: Bock & Harnick – 1964)
When do a father and mother realize that they have reached the tipping point of parenthood – that pivotal moment when their children are actually more knowledgeable and capable than they? Is there a certain age one reaches, or is it about diminishing mental capacities? Brain farts must certainly be one indicator, or perhaps the number of times you walk into a room and forget what brought you there. Maybe it is about getting older. I suppose I’ve always KNOWN that my two children, Tony and Teresa, had grown up and caught up to us. I’d watched them leave home for college, graduate, begin careers, marry, begin families, and buy their own homes. But it wasn’t until Kathy and I traveled with “Prisa” to New York City that it really hit me. It was there that I felt our roles had switched – the child was guiding the parent! You see, in the space of five months I have experienced that moment with both of our children in very different locales, Dublin and New York. Strange that it would take two cities, so far away from our homes in Los Angeles, to illicit a sense of a paradigm shift in our relations with our children.
The idea of traveling to New York with our daughter grew from a phone call she made to us on the night of last year's Golden Globe Awards. At the conclusion of the show on television, Prisa called us with news that the actor Jeff Daniels was starring in the new Aaron Sorkin Broadway production of Harper Lee’s classic novel To Kill a Mockingbird. After the phone call, Kathy tossed up the idea of taking Prisa to New York as a Christmas present. The more we talked and laughed about the idea, the more we realized that traveling to New York with our baby girl to see a new Broadway play was absurdly brilliant. That same evening we called her back with our proposition.
You need to understand that there is a special relationship between To Kill a Mockingbird and our daughter. It was the first novel I was ever able to convince Prisa to read. I did it by telling her that the central female character of the story, Scout, reminded me of her. I coaxed her into first seeing the movie version with Gregory Peck, and then tempted her into read the novel by saying that the book offered further tales and more information about the precocious tomboy, Scout. To date, I believe To Kill a Mockingbird is the only novel that Prisa read at my recommendation – and she loved it. I’m secretly convinced that she felt that Harper Lee was describing her and her relationship with her brother Tony in the story, and the book planted the seed of Prisa’s budding love of literature and the skill of writing. So the prospect of taking her to see a new production of the novel was an opportunity Kathy and I did not want to miss.
There was an assumption being made in that last sentence – that Kathy and I were taking our daughter to New York. It implies that we were in control and Prisa was coming as our guest. Now Kathy and I had been in New York City nine years earlier celebrating her 60th birthday. We had explored the city together, walking Uptown and Downtown, strolling through Central Park, and masterfully utilizing the subway to travel to the Bronx, the Battery, Wall Street, Columbia University, and Grand Central Station. We were confident in our sense of direction and remembered the street names and numbers we traveled. All of those abilities deserted us on the first day, the minute we stepped outside the Hilton Midtown Hotel on 6th Avenue. Even following the directions to Rockefeller Center, given by the hotel clerk, proved difficult. It wasn’t until Prisa stepped in, reading the Google map directions on her cell phone, which we found confusing, that we reached our destination. Over the two days Prisa stayed with us, I can only imagine her shaking her head in amusement over our directionless antics, and our wishy-washy decision-making. The second day in Manhattan, after visiting the 9-11 Memorial Museum at the World Trade Center and walking over to the Brookfield Place shopping mall on West Street to look for a place to eat lunch, I was overwhelmed by the size and seeming confusion of the food court. Once again Prisa took over, guiding us to an empty table overlooking the Hudson River and the New Jersey shore, and telling us to sit there until she had scouted the various offerings and came back with recommendations. Later, after taking a carriage ride through Central Park together, I imagined that she felt a great sense of relief at safely depositing her two parents back at the hotel, and went off to explore Manhattan on her own.
Traveling to New York to see a new Broadway play was a dream come true for me, and having Prisa there to share the experience made the whole evening magical. Yet, even while walking to Broadway, through Times Square, on our last evening together, we were totally dependant on Prisa’s guidance and directions to find The Blue Fin Restaurant for dinner and the Shubert Theatre for the play. Despite the fine meal, the great play, and the fabulous conversation before and after the play, I could not dispel a nagging sense of uselessness, and the feeling that an oceanic tidal shift in our relationship with our children had occurred.
I had felt a hint of this shifting landscape in Ireland, four months earlier, when Kathy and I met up with Toñito and his wife Nikki in Dublin for dinner. Kathy had been planning our return trip to Ireland for a year, and we were surprised to learn that Tony and Nikki had decided to visit Scotland and Ireland at about the same time in September. I believe it was Kathy who first floated the prospect of trying to meet up in Dublin, if our timelines and itineraries matched up. At first, I dismissed the idea as a fanciful wish and assumed Tony and Nikki would concentrate on their plans and around their own schedule and interests. So I was surprised when Toñito called Kathy sometime in August asking for the specific dates we would be in Ireland to see if he could coordinate a reunion. After much discussion with his mother, it was decided that he would try to meet us for dinner on our last night in Dublin, October 1. Even through Kathy never got a clear picture of Tony and Nikki’s specific travel plans in Scotland, she fixed on the idea of our reunion and believed it would take place. I, on the other hand, must confess of being a pessimist about nebulous plans actually working out, and throughout our travels in Ireland, whenever I asked Kathy for specific information about Tony’s itinerary and received a shrug with an “I’m not sure” response, my dubiousness multiplied. I tried dismissing the nagging suspicion that this reunion would never actually take place, and concentrated on enjoying my trip through Ireland with Kathleen.
You have to realize that Toñito was a sweet boy growing up. He was always thoughtful and considerate to his sister and us throughout his childhood, youth, and young adulthood. He shared his toys and sporting equipment with Teresa, included her in all his games and computer activities, and spent countless hours reading to her, and listening to her early attempts. He remembers birthdays and holidays, and always makes a point of attending family functions, celebrations, and weddings. But as often happens in the lives of maturing men and adults, new relationships, responsibilities, and personal interests and habits begin to dominate and take precedence. Tony follows his own schedule and pursues his own way of doing things. I suspected that Toñito would do what I would have done in his place while traveling with Nikki in Scotland – while always having the intention of making the reunion on October 1st, the dictates of time, travel, and hardship would determine if he ever actually made it. I had experienced first hand the trials of train and automobile driving in Ireland, so I could imagine that the difficulties of crossing the Irish Sea and traveling into Dublin on a specific afternoon and evening would cause him to give up. It is what I would do.
On our last day in Dublin, Kathy and I did some last minute separate sightseeing, packing, and waited for Toñito and Nikki to notify us of their arrival in Ireland. We waited and waited, with Kathy never doubting, and stoutly putting up with my pessimistic vibes and comments, as I got hungry and then sleepy after two cocktails. At about 8 o’clock Tony finally called to tell Kathleen that they had arrived at a seaside bed and breakfast to the north of Dublin and planned on driving into the city. Kathy advised them to forgo the driving and instead taking the DART electric train to a station close to our hotel. Although it seemed to me that her suggestions were only complicating things further, Tony agreed and said he would meet us there. At about 9 o’clock we walked to Pearse Station, keeping a look out for Tony and Nikki on the multiple elevated tracks. As one, and then two trains arrived, Kathy said in an excited voice, “There he is!” and I too spotted the tall standing figure through the window of the train. Tony and Nikki had made it after all.
There is something special about meeting up and dining with loved ones, and close family members and friends in a distant or foreign city, far from home. The unlikelihood of such a reunion gives it a magical air and a timeless feeling. Watching Toñito descending on the station elevator changed the ambiance and tone of the evening for me. By overcoming time, distance, and hardships, Tony had achieved what I considered impossible for myself. At the nearby Kennedy’s Restaurant and Bar we laughed and talked together all evening. Tony and Nikki recounted their travels in Scotland and sought our suggestions about possible sites in Dublin. I smiled happily throughout the evening, listening to the talk and descriptions, but was a bit surprised at Tony’s response when I voiced my doubts about this reunion actually taking place. He laughed kindly as he put his arm around my shoulders and said, “Of course we were going to make it tonight, Dad! I wouldn’t miss celebrating your birthday in Ireland.”
So on two happy and magical evenings, in two faraway cities, spending private time with our son and daughter made me feel a little nostalgic of times long past. I loved the fact that we were together, talking about our travels through Dublin and New York, and the new theatrical adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird. We discussed, agreed and disagreed about things, and spent much of the time laughing and smiling, but there was also a bitter sweet aura of time having passed us by – that Kathy and I were no longer as capable and able as we once were. We weren’t the primary caretakers. Over time, Toñito and Prisa had gently usurped that title. They had families, careers, homes, and futures, and they organized and managed their time based on changing demands and responsibilities. They were now the grownups, and were far more capable of traveling, negotiating new cities, and making quick decisions than Kathy or I. I suppose this sad realization would have come to us eventually, but I’m glad it happened when it did – in the company of our children, in two special places.
