I’m Just that Way
Jul. 13th, 2018 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947What do you think about love?
Is it a game to be played?
To be torn and lost in the wilderness?
To be lost and lonely after all?
What do you think about love?
Is it a way to be saved?
To feel the warmth of another love?
To be lost and lonely after all?
I really don’t know anymore,
I really can’t say.
I really don’t care anymore,
I’m just that way.
(I Don’t Really Care Anymore: Christopher Cross – 1980)
It started with Peter Greaney’s Facebook post in June, when Kathy read it and informed me that our godson Peter was participating in a rough-water swim across San Francisco Bay for charity and was asking for sponsors. She immediately called him to get the facts about making a contribution for Cancer research, and finding out the details about his swim. After the phone call we began talking and reminiscing about Peter, and our other "Greaney" godson, Billy Kirst. Bill was Kathy’s oldest sister, Mary Ellen’s oldest son, and Peter was Kathy’s youngest brother, Greg’s youngest son. They’re sort of the yin and yang of nephews and godsons (Kathy and I also have one godson on the Delgado side of the family - Tommy, the youngest son of my sister Grace Holiday Baloh). I’ve mentioned both "Greaney" boys in a few of my blog essays, but Peter has somehow always gotten the major ink (see tag: peter). Kathy makes a point of always staying in touch with them, sending them notes and gifts on holidays and birthdays, and calling them periodically to see how they are doing. The spiritual connection of god-parenthood somehow makes them special, and a little different from their other nieces and nephews. Last summer we even managed to have them visit us at the beach house we were renting in Ventura. Talking about Peter and his latest athletic venture got me to thinking about god-parenthood and these two young men, and I told Kathy I might write a personal essay about them.
“About them, or about you?” She asked accusingly with a smile.
“Well”, I answered defensively, knowing how my essays always tended to revolve around my personal memories and perceptions of people and events, “it is MY blog.”
The way that I remember one occasion went something like this.
In June of 2014, Kathy and I drove to La Jolla to attend Peter’s graduation from the University of California in San Diego. We were staying at the same hotel as his parents, Greg and Anne, and his two brothers, Clay and Clark, and planned on joining them for the graduation ceremony on the following morning. After unpacking, I took my camera and we went down to the lobby where we found Greg and Anne there with their boys. Joining them in the spacious lounge, we began talking about family events and what they had been doing recently. At some point in the conversation, while I took some photos, Anne interjected, in her usual attentive and expressive manner,
“I can’t believe you traveled all this way just to see Peter’s graduation! You took all those wonderful pictures at his high school graduation.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I responded. “Kathy wasn’t able to make that graduation because of work”, I explained, “so I wanted to get plenty of pictures for us.”
“They were fabulous!” Anne exclaimed.
“I’m hoping to get just as many of him at this graduation”, I added. “You know Peter is a special godson to us.”
At that last statement Anne’s face suddenly froze, and her eyes widened in confusion. This was followed by a long eerie silence. This look was not typical of Anne’s complementary, conversational style. Normally she would have expanded on my last sentence, and been effusive about our support of her son. Instead she looked over at Greg as if pleading for assistance. Greg, however, simply reflected back a look of non-engaged neutrality, leaving Anne to dangle on her own.
“I thought,” she finally stammered, apologetically, “ that Peter had another Godfather”.
Now I was stunned into confusion and looked to Kathy for clarification. Crazy thoughts started careening through my mind. Hadn’t we stood side by side at San Roque Church as Godparents to Peter and sent him gifts and cards at Christmas and birthdays? Could I have imagined all this? Was Peter’s baptism a false memory? Had I been living under a delusion all this time? Greg’s intervention finally broke the uncomfortable silence and halted my spiraling descent of self-doubt and pity.
“I’m sure Tony and Kathy are Peter’s Godparents and we have the certificate somewhere. So,” he added, bringing this topic to a close, “you two will be joining us for dinner, right?”
I’ve occasionally wondered why I let this little lapse of memory bother me so much. After all, God-parenting has become something of an anachronism in these post-modern times. In America, the role of godparents seems mostly symbolic, calling upon two adults to act as christening sponsors for a child, and boosters of the parents. It doesn’t carry the same level of responsibilities as in other cultures, especially in Latin America and some European countries. In Mexico and Italy, for example, the term for god-parenthood is “compadrazco”, or co-parenthood, and it embodies the concept that parents and godparents shared a cooperative responsibility for the upbringing, education, and professional success of their child and godchild. Kathy’s level of involvement in the lives of all three of her godsons (the third being Jeff Parker, her sister Debbie’s son) comes closest to this concept. She made a point of intersecting with their lives, and making time to call or visit them whenever possible – and I go along for the ride. I recall two of many such occasions with our godson Billy that had a special significance for me – when he graduated from college, and last September when he was in Los Angeles for a business meeting.
There was never any doubt that Bill Kirst was our godson, because his birthplace and baptism were unforgettable. He was born and baptized in Tehran, during the times surrounding the fall of the Shah, while his family was living in Iran. Kathy and I were asked to be his godparents by proxy – meaning that two other adults stood in our place in Tehran during the actual baptism, while we signed the certificate in the United States. However the only times we saw Billy as a child and young adult were when his mother and father would visit Los Angeles in between their travels, and we could talk to him about his life and plans for college. When he graduated from Johns Hopkins University in 2000, Kathy and I travelled to Washington D.C. to attend the ceremony, while staying at a hotel near his parent’s home near the National Cathedral. That evening, while Kathy and I relaxed in the outdoor patio of the hotel, with the pomp and drama of commencement and a family celebration at an Annapolis restaurant behind us, we saw Billy emerging out of the darkness to join us. There we listened to a naïve and thoughtful young man speak of his hopes and fears at this crossroads of his life, and reflecting on graduate school, relationships, and happiness. We offered advice where we could, but spent more time simply listening, and supporting his plans and dreams. Over the next 18 years, which witnessed him joining the Army, working at the Pentagon, and pursuing a career in Management Leadership, we kept in touch with Billy by phone, social media, and visits, and he with us. He joined us at the beach last summer when we vacationed at the Channel Island Harbor in Oxnard, and he spent the night with us last September when he was in Los Angeles for a business conference. It was there that we heard a now mature man describing the stresses of work and travel, the hardships of maintaining a long-distance relationship with his loved one, and the contemplative strategies he employed to cope with them. Then, as before, Kathy and I spent more time listening and validating his plans and actions, always expressing our joy over his successes and happiness. I suppose that’s all a parent or godparent can do when children grow up and become adults.
The morning after the god-paternity issue arose, I decided, in true Greaney fashion, to make light of the awkward conversation over who were Peter’s godparents by moving it to the forefront of conversation and making a joke out of it. Geared up with camera and telephoto lenses, I made my way to the staging area of the commencement exercise, prepared to take pictures of Peter from beginning to end. There, excusing myself for my presence and constant intrusion with a clicking camera, I introduced myself to his friends and schoolmates as “his true godfather”. You got to love Peter for his patience with me when it comes to taking pictures of him, he just smiles and puts up with my posing requests. This was the case in high school and in all the Greaney family reunions and celebrations. I must admit that watching the faces of these young men and women that were reflecting the nostalgic realization that their carefree collegiate days were over also caught me up in the paradoxical excitement of the moment. Young people who were laughing, hugging, mugging, and crying surrounded me – and I photographed it all. Once the processional began, and Peter disappeared from view, I made my way to the seating area and joined the rest of his visiting family.
Peter’s Facebook announcement of his participation Swim Across America to fight cancer brought back all those old memories, as well as pride in his budding career as a scientist for Genentech. He was moving on and forward, and Kathy and I were going to remain a small part of his life, with or without verification of our god-parenting status. I suppose I really don’t care anymore about official certification. I’m simply claiming the family title of being Peter’s godfather, with all its burdensome responsibilities, along with the joys of watching him grow old and happy in his achievements in the future. I’m just that way.
Is it a game to be played?
To be torn and lost in the wilderness?
To be lost and lonely after all?
What do you think about love?
Is it a way to be saved?
To feel the warmth of another love?
To be lost and lonely after all?
I really don’t know anymore,
I really can’t say.
I really don’t care anymore,
I’m just that way.
(I Don’t Really Care Anymore: Christopher Cross – 1980)
It started with Peter Greaney’s Facebook post in June, when Kathy read it and informed me that our godson Peter was participating in a rough-water swim across San Francisco Bay for charity and was asking for sponsors. She immediately called him to get the facts about making a contribution for Cancer research, and finding out the details about his swim. After the phone call we began talking and reminiscing about Peter, and our other "Greaney" godson, Billy Kirst. Bill was Kathy’s oldest sister, Mary Ellen’s oldest son, and Peter was Kathy’s youngest brother, Greg’s youngest son. They’re sort of the yin and yang of nephews and godsons (Kathy and I also have one godson on the Delgado side of the family - Tommy, the youngest son of my sister Grace Holiday Baloh). I’ve mentioned both "Greaney" boys in a few of my blog essays, but Peter has somehow always gotten the major ink (see tag: peter). Kathy makes a point of always staying in touch with them, sending them notes and gifts on holidays and birthdays, and calling them periodically to see how they are doing. The spiritual connection of god-parenthood somehow makes them special, and a little different from their other nieces and nephews. Last summer we even managed to have them visit us at the beach house we were renting in Ventura. Talking about Peter and his latest athletic venture got me to thinking about god-parenthood and these two young men, and I told Kathy I might write a personal essay about them.
“About them, or about you?” She asked accusingly with a smile.
“Well”, I answered defensively, knowing how my essays always tended to revolve around my personal memories and perceptions of people and events, “it is MY blog.”
The way that I remember one occasion went something like this.
In June of 2014, Kathy and I drove to La Jolla to attend Peter’s graduation from the University of California in San Diego. We were staying at the same hotel as his parents, Greg and Anne, and his two brothers, Clay and Clark, and planned on joining them for the graduation ceremony on the following morning. After unpacking, I took my camera and we went down to the lobby where we found Greg and Anne there with their boys. Joining them in the spacious lounge, we began talking about family events and what they had been doing recently. At some point in the conversation, while I took some photos, Anne interjected, in her usual attentive and expressive manner,
“I can’t believe you traveled all this way just to see Peter’s graduation! You took all those wonderful pictures at his high school graduation.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I responded. “Kathy wasn’t able to make that graduation because of work”, I explained, “so I wanted to get plenty of pictures for us.”
“They were fabulous!” Anne exclaimed.
“I’m hoping to get just as many of him at this graduation”, I added. “You know Peter is a special godson to us.”
At that last statement Anne’s face suddenly froze, and her eyes widened in confusion. This was followed by a long eerie silence. This look was not typical of Anne’s complementary, conversational style. Normally she would have expanded on my last sentence, and been effusive about our support of her son. Instead she looked over at Greg as if pleading for assistance. Greg, however, simply reflected back a look of non-engaged neutrality, leaving Anne to dangle on her own.
“I thought,” she finally stammered, apologetically, “ that Peter had another Godfather”.
Now I was stunned into confusion and looked to Kathy for clarification. Crazy thoughts started careening through my mind. Hadn’t we stood side by side at San Roque Church as Godparents to Peter and sent him gifts and cards at Christmas and birthdays? Could I have imagined all this? Was Peter’s baptism a false memory? Had I been living under a delusion all this time? Greg’s intervention finally broke the uncomfortable silence and halted my spiraling descent of self-doubt and pity.
“I’m sure Tony and Kathy are Peter’s Godparents and we have the certificate somewhere. So,” he added, bringing this topic to a close, “you two will be joining us for dinner, right?”
I’ve occasionally wondered why I let this little lapse of memory bother me so much. After all, God-parenting has become something of an anachronism in these post-modern times. In America, the role of godparents seems mostly symbolic, calling upon two adults to act as christening sponsors for a child, and boosters of the parents. It doesn’t carry the same level of responsibilities as in other cultures, especially in Latin America and some European countries. In Mexico and Italy, for example, the term for god-parenthood is “compadrazco”, or co-parenthood, and it embodies the concept that parents and godparents shared a cooperative responsibility for the upbringing, education, and professional success of their child and godchild. Kathy’s level of involvement in the lives of all three of her godsons (the third being Jeff Parker, her sister Debbie’s son) comes closest to this concept. She made a point of intersecting with their lives, and making time to call or visit them whenever possible – and I go along for the ride. I recall two of many such occasions with our godson Billy that had a special significance for me – when he graduated from college, and last September when he was in Los Angeles for a business meeting.
There was never any doubt that Bill Kirst was our godson, because his birthplace and baptism were unforgettable. He was born and baptized in Tehran, during the times surrounding the fall of the Shah, while his family was living in Iran. Kathy and I were asked to be his godparents by proxy – meaning that two other adults stood in our place in Tehran during the actual baptism, while we signed the certificate in the United States. However the only times we saw Billy as a child and young adult were when his mother and father would visit Los Angeles in between their travels, and we could talk to him about his life and plans for college. When he graduated from Johns Hopkins University in 2000, Kathy and I travelled to Washington D.C. to attend the ceremony, while staying at a hotel near his parent’s home near the National Cathedral. That evening, while Kathy and I relaxed in the outdoor patio of the hotel, with the pomp and drama of commencement and a family celebration at an Annapolis restaurant behind us, we saw Billy emerging out of the darkness to join us. There we listened to a naïve and thoughtful young man speak of his hopes and fears at this crossroads of his life, and reflecting on graduate school, relationships, and happiness. We offered advice where we could, but spent more time simply listening, and supporting his plans and dreams. Over the next 18 years, which witnessed him joining the Army, working at the Pentagon, and pursuing a career in Management Leadership, we kept in touch with Billy by phone, social media, and visits, and he with us. He joined us at the beach last summer when we vacationed at the Channel Island Harbor in Oxnard, and he spent the night with us last September when he was in Los Angeles for a business conference. It was there that we heard a now mature man describing the stresses of work and travel, the hardships of maintaining a long-distance relationship with his loved one, and the contemplative strategies he employed to cope with them. Then, as before, Kathy and I spent more time listening and validating his plans and actions, always expressing our joy over his successes and happiness. I suppose that’s all a parent or godparent can do when children grow up and become adults.
The morning after the god-paternity issue arose, I decided, in true Greaney fashion, to make light of the awkward conversation over who were Peter’s godparents by moving it to the forefront of conversation and making a joke out of it. Geared up with camera and telephoto lenses, I made my way to the staging area of the commencement exercise, prepared to take pictures of Peter from beginning to end. There, excusing myself for my presence and constant intrusion with a clicking camera, I introduced myself to his friends and schoolmates as “his true godfather”. You got to love Peter for his patience with me when it comes to taking pictures of him, he just smiles and puts up with my posing requests. This was the case in high school and in all the Greaney family reunions and celebrations. I must admit that watching the faces of these young men and women that were reflecting the nostalgic realization that their carefree collegiate days were over also caught me up in the paradoxical excitement of the moment. Young people who were laughing, hugging, mugging, and crying surrounded me – and I photographed it all. Once the processional began, and Peter disappeared from view, I made my way to the seating area and joined the rest of his visiting family.
Peter’s Facebook announcement of his participation Swim Across America to fight cancer brought back all those old memories, as well as pride in his budding career as a scientist for Genentech. He was moving on and forward, and Kathy and I were going to remain a small part of his life, with or without verification of our god-parenting status. I suppose I really don’t care anymore about official certification. I’m simply claiming the family title of being Peter’s godfather, with all its burdensome responsibilities, along with the joys of watching him grow old and happy in his achievements in the future. I’m just that way.
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