Happy Birthday Eva
My entire blog is for Eva and Brady. I know that they have read a couple of entries over the past ten months but most are read by others. I want my grandchildren to know about the people who have touched my life, and by default, touched theirs. It’s a way of sharing my history.
Ruth and I went to Brady’s football game last Wednesday. They lost 8 -0. We stopped by David’s house after the game and Brady was feeling low. Losing has a way of bringing you down. I saw an Algebra book on the couch so I asked Brady if he was taking Algebra. He is. I thought that talking about other things might raise his spirits. Algebra is not his favorite discussion topic but it got us off losing a football game.
I told him that I was never good at math and his dad was not really great at math either. (We both turned out OK) I also told him that if he studied, I knew he’d “get it”. David reminded him that he is smarter than both of us. He is. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Our Algebra discussion led to other topics and a couple of other stories. Brady listened but Eva hung on every word. As we were getting ready to leave she asked me to tell her “one more story about my dad”. So Eva, here are a couple of stories just for you on your eleventh birthday.
David the Artist
Ruth and I thought David was the smartest baby to ever be born. He walked when he was ten months old. His first words formed a complete thought, “cookie mama”, and be could throw a ball with the best of them. On target, with authority.
He was interested in God at a very early age. He asked questions and we answered. We didn’t discuss religion at home very often so this was an interest inspired by his own curiosity. When he was in first grade he came home from school near the Christmas holiday with a picture that he had drawn of Mary and the Baby Jesus. Ruth and I were very proud of his artwork. Ruth put it in a frame, placed it on display with our other Christmas decorations and stored it for safe keeping to use the following year. David is 43 now so we have included his picture in our holiday decorating scheme for about thirty-seven years. We are still very proud of his work.
When David was in middle school he asked his mom why she put the picture of “the volcano” he drew on display every Christmas. (One man’s picture of Mary and Baby Jesus is another man’s volcano.)
Girls Can Be Rough
The students in David’s class were all very bright. They established the reputation of being a special group of students when they started school. That reputation followed them throughout their entire school career. The girls and boys all played and worked together. They were a great group of friends.
When David was in the third grade he was playing with a couple of girls, Marika and Barbie. (Barbie had been David’s friend since pre-school and Marika joined the group in Kindergarten.) The girls were chasing him on the playground and he tried to get away by climbing the monkey bars. They caught him. One grabbed his right leg and the other his left. They pulled on his legs, he lost his grip, and he came crashing down. He hit his chin and it split open like a too ripe grape.
The playground supervisor brought him into the office. I was his dad and his principal. I took him to the doctor’s office and they stitched his chin back together. When I returned to school with David, he went back to class, and I had the girls come to the office for “a talk” with me. They were truly sorry that they can hurt their friend, and as far as I know, the two never pulled another boy off the monkey bars.
David split his chin open several more times over the years. Old wounds are hard to heal. All of his future bouts with “a split chin” were on the basketball court and no one felt sorry.
Pajama Day
For four years of my time in Addison, I was the principal of all students in grades K -8. I was in charge of three different buildings. Wayne Gray housed K – 3, the upper elementary held grades 4 and 5, and the middle school had 6-8. Before I gained the middle school assignment, I would take David to school with me and drop his sister, Elizabeth, and brother, Michael, off at day care. Ruth was teaching in Adrian, and it was easier for me to take care of the morning transit duties.
By the time I took over the middle school all three were in elementary school. I had to leave earlier for work so I couldn’t take them to school. We asked a neighbor, Emil, to look after the kids for about an hour each morning. He made sure that they finished their breakfast and were dressed for the day before they headed to the school bus. Emil was a retired plumber and a great neighbor. He was a gentle man who treated our three like they were his own.
One morning I got a call from David’s fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Riggs. She wanted me to know that David had worn his pajama tops to school instead of putting on a shirt. His pajama top was part of a pair of football pajama’s with a blue number 10 set on top of a yellow shirt. A couple of his friends had teased him about his attire and she wanted me to know in case I wanted to replace the shirt. I didn’t. Heck he was a Michigan football fan and this was the closest thing to a Michigan uniform that my son owned. I wish that Emil had done a better job of inspecting David’s readiness for school, but he hadn’t.
Looking back, David may have been a trend setter. Pajama Days are an integral part of most school’s yearly celebrations. Who could foresee that my fourth grade son would grow up to be a key leader in the education community thirty-three years later. Maybe Emil.