Rain Patrols

I'm nine, and I walk in the door soaking wet. No coat, no rain jacket. I've been walking in the rain. I'd loved walking in the rain for as long as I could remember. Rain seemed like a special occasion in southern California, and I wanted to feel it, to remember it, to celebrate.

My mom sighs and asks, "What were you thinking?"
"It was fun."
"Getting soaked is fun?"
"Well, yeah."

Mom shakes her head, but she's smiling just a little.

***

Dylan asks if we can go out "on patrol."
"It's raining," I say.
"It'll be fun."
I start to tell him that we'll wait for the rain to slow down. But then, I remember.

I grab a jacket and meet my son back at the front door. "Where's your jacket?"
"Don't need one," he says.
"C'mon. Get a jacket."
"Please, Dad?"

A memory. A nine year-old's memory.

We come back a half hour later. We're soaked. We're on the verge of shivering. Mom is waiting.

"Where are your jackets?"
"We left them behind," Dylan answers.
"What were you guys thinking?"

But she's smiling just a little, and while her words were "What were you guys thinking?", what we hear is "I love you both, even when you do stupid stuff."

She orders us to stand by the front door. She grabs a couple of towels, orders us to take off our shirts, towels off Dylan, towels off me. She disappears, and comes back with sweat pants and fresh t-shirts for both of us. We put on the dry duds, and retire to the sofa to watch "Dirty Jobs."

Rhonda comes out of the kitchen with hot chocolate. She looks at us, shakes her head, and utters, "boys."

I look at Dylan. He looks so happy.

Mary's "Conversations with Dad"

I overheard Dylan talking to his friend Kiley on the phone the other day.

"Both of my grandfathers are gone, and it's really made me sad lately."

There are many good things about being an older parent. I think I'm much better at being a dad than I would have been in my twenties. But thinking about my dad and Rhonda's dad makes me sad too. They would have both loved being granddads, and Dylan would have loved being around them.

So, oh yes, there are minuses to being an older parent too.

***

I read this post from Mary this morning, and I liked it so much that I had to share.

Swinging from a Winter Vine

My bride's friend Linda came to visit us from down San Luis Obisbo way. She and Rhonda have been good friends since they were both probation officers in Los Angeles in the eighties. Linda became a grandmother last year, and she'll be moving to be closer to her daughter, granddaughter, and son-in-law.

It was cold and windy, but Linda was game for visiting Turtle Bay Exploration Park here in Redding. The Sundial Bridge spanning the Sacramento River is one of our area's main attractions, and I often wonder why I don't walk across its span more often.

Geez, it's just so easy to take people and places and the other gifts of life for granted. I do that. I wish I didn't.

Linda stayed for the for a long weekend, and left yesterday. I picked Dylan up from school, and he was sad that she'd be gone when we got home. She's one of the warmest people I've ever met, and Dylan has always loved being around her.

We have the family we're born with, and the family we choose.

**

I had lunch with Dylan at his school yesterday. He liked having me sit there with his friends. He'll be in sixth grade next year, and the day could come when he rather hang out with just his friends. I thought of that yesterday, and it put a golden highlight on the moment.

**

A few nights ago, I dreamed that I went to feed the chickens, and our Barred Rock rooster struck up a conversation with me. I don't remember much of what we talked about, but I do remember that he sounded like Billy Idol.

Sad Endings

I haven't been writing much. Sorry that a batch of sad news prompts me to join you today, but sadness has long been the best writing prompt I have.

My uncle Darrell, whom I wrote about here, lost his battle with brain cancer early this month. He was the first family member to show up at my parents' house the day my dad died. When I was a little guy, I thought Darrell was some kind of superhero. Dylan bonded to him as a baby more than any other extended family member, and I wasn't surprised. He chose not to have a funeral. That doesn't surprise me either. Our family will get their chance to remember him together, though: my uncle Sid--older brother to Darrell--and my aunt Bettye will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary this summer.

**

We have a Mexican food place here in Redding called Burrito Bandito. Rhonda and I visited it right after they opened several years ago, and we liked it immediately. But, we lamented that it probably wouldn't make it because of its less than ideal location. But, not only have they "made it," they've succeeded due to great service and fresh, tasty food.

I got to be friends with a guy named Al who worked there. Since lunch hours were always crowded, I would go in before or after the work crowd. Al was a warm, engaging guy, the kind of guy who asked, "How you doing?" not as a mere salutation, but because he really wanted to know how you were doing.

I hadn't visited Burrito Bandito in a few months when I stopped by there last month. As I was waiting in line, I saw a photo of Al on the wall. On the top of the photo were the words, "We fondly remember."

Al fell from some height, hit his head, went into a coma in the hospital, and died several days later.

**

I've known Sherri since the sixth grade. I met her son Jeff and her daughter Jennifer when they were little. Jennifer was an adorable little girl, and Jeff was a bright, engaging little guy with an infectious smile.

This week, Jeff jumped to his death from the Cold Spring bridge, in the backcountry of Santa Barbara County. I've only communicated a couple of times with Sherri since Jeff's death. She's shipwrecked, of course. As for me, I'm having a lot of trouble reconciling my memories of that happy little kid with the young adult who became so overcome with darkness that he ended his own life.

Still, when I look at Jeff's Facebook page, it's clear that Jeff was a light in the lives of many, despite harboring his inner demons. It's also clear that Jeff will be remembered much more for the light he shared with others than the darkness that ultimately claimed him.

**

Right now, I'm pissed off at life. I should offer something better than that, but I won't. I'll get over it, and I'll be back.