A Different Method of Communication

When I was a kid, my only grandparent lived 257 miles away. I usually saw him for two periods of time each year. In the summer I would stay at his Wisconsin home for a week. And every year, until his health failed him, he would stay with us during football season, to visit Soldier Field for the college all-star game or to watch his beloved Green Bay Packers play the Chicago Bears.

I loved my grandfather and retain only positive memories of him. I never heard him raise his voice, although my uncle Gene assures me that, at times, indeed he did. I remember that his adult daughters would not partake of alcohol or use profane language in his presence, although heaven knows such use was a normal part of their lives otherwise.

He was an avid hunter and fisherman. (hello? did you not read Wisconsin?)

I have two, no make that three, especially vivid memories of my time with my grandfather. But, the third involves my thumb becoming caught in the tailgate of his pickup truck, so we’ll just skip that one.

One remembrance is of him cooking for me a rainbow trout he’d caught. He pointed out the rainbow on the fish, all pale tones of brown, orange, pink, yellow, purple and blue. I remember the spots on the fish. He was was crouched down next to me, so he’d be at my eye level, a sweet smile on his face as he whispered, “I’m going to share a secret with you, my favorite part of a fish.” I remember standing there with my mouth agape and eyes wide open. He pointed with a fork to the cheek of the fish and scooped a tiny pale salmon-colored morsel of meat out, and put it in my open mouth. “The cheek holds the sweetest part of the trout.” He was right. It was the best part.

My second treasured memory is of my grandfather making a tin can “telephone” for me. I think he might have even used fishing line for the wire connecting the two tin cans. I would sit at the top of the staircase and he at the bottom and we would talk.

Fast-forward to today, where my husband and I communicate with our two grandchildren, who now live over 700 driving miles away. We marvel at their savvy with Skype and FaceTime. It turns out, our younger 5-year-old granddaughter is quite the ham once the camera is upon her. The older grandson is 7, so he’s able to read and thus can also text us. We can ask him directly what he would like for a Christmas present (& later check with Mom & Dad to be certain it's approved).

Nothing can ever replace the feel of a grandchild’s head nestled against your shoulder as you watch a dvd together. Nothing can replace kissing their forehead when you tuck them in at night, or spoiling them with homemade donuts for breakfast. But, it's definitely the  highlight of our week to receive a spontaneous FaceTime from a five year old belting out a tune, or a seven year old sharing a photo of a chameleon he spotted. It surely beats the heck out of waiting for a twice-a-year in-person visit.