Was it just a year ago I first held you in my arms, looked into your eyes, and said, “Who are you?” We’ve spent the past year getting to know each other. How quickly you’ve grown from that sweet little babe who fell into such a deep and peaceful sleep in my arms to the active little boy who is constantly on the move. Wasn’t it just a few months ago that we clapped as you began to learn how to roll over, first from your back to your front and then front to back? And just a few weeks ago that you first started to crawl, and then stand? Now you are walking everywhere.
You are an intrepid explorer and the world your obstacle course – wherever there’s a hole to crawl through or a height to surmount – from the couch to grandpa to the oh-so-inviting stairs to the top of the piano and beyond – you’ll be there. You started climbing even before you started walking. It’s just the same as crawling after all, only vertical.
You have been captivated by how different things feel – from the softness of Cake’s fur to the scratchiness of the window screens, the bumpiness of the place mats, the smoothness of the window pane, the metallic ridges of the heat vents, the plastic mesh on the gate, the gooiness of squashed oatmeal, the splashy wet of water, the scratchiness of sand, and the silkiness of a blade of grass. Your fingers explore it all.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s the feel of the things that fascinate you or the sound, because you seem to be listening as you run your fingers over everything. You were the most vocal infant I’ve ever met, trying out every possible sound from high pitched squeals to Germanic glottal stops and everything in between. You were delighted when you could make the sound of hands clapping, and then the sounds of anything you could pick up and clap together -- from plastic cups to maracas to toy cymbals. The shaker egg was the best! And the piano. At first you were delighted by the sounds you could make by pressing multiple keys at once with your flat hand, but you also wanted to experiment with the differences in the notes – going first to the highest notes and then the lowest. Now you want to hear each note individually, gently depressing one key at a time, listening for the various pitches and timbres. When you were only a few months old you began to sing yourself to sleep – those little murmuring coos and oos that soothe you -- so familiar to me now, and so precious.
You are so very curious about how things work – from the window cranks to drawer knobs to the springy door stops — how you loved to watch them go “boing” when you touched them — and even sometimes your toys! My favorite moment of your exploration was when you watched the hammers on the piano go up and down and put your hands in the piano as far as they could go to feel the vibrations on the strings when I played the notes.
We love to watch you, but you also love to watch us! You were so intrigued when your grandpa got out his screwdriver and tuning tools to fix the notes on the piano and the latch on the door. And you are content to sit in your high chair just to watch me make a pie, chop vegetables, or wash the dishes.
You love the dogs and cats best of all – far preferring their toys to your own, watching their every movement and so wanting to touch them before they scoot away from your fur-pulling grasp. Your first words were “doggie” and “kitty,” and when we go walking, you point at every passing Golden, Labrador, Great Dane, German Shepherd, Terrier, Corgi, and Pug and excitedly say, “doggie”! Sometimes I think you think you are a dog!
We have had so many precious moments, you and I – swinging and singing to you in the old hammock by the lake, the surprise -- to both of us – of your first laugh, chasing you up and down the halls when you learned to crawl, your first encounter with solid food, the zest with which you eat everything offered, and your sheer amazement at the wonder of pureed carrots, your absolute glee zooming around the bathtub, you falling asleep in my arms as I sang “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” on Christmas Eve, your precious giggles as we play peek-a-boo when I duck under the kitchen counter and around the walls, your first tentative steps, the way you smile and reach for me when we first see each other when I come to visit, the sweet early mornings when I get to be the one you wake up to and you are still snuggly and not quite ready to wriggle out of my arms, and I sing our good morning song that always makes you smile.
A year ago I wondered what kind of grandma I would be. Now I know – one who knows what makes you smile and laugh as well as how to soothe your tears, who delights in your curiosity and loves watching you explore the world, who sings your favorite songs and plays games that make you giggle, who downloaded Raffi into her iPhone only to discover that you really love “Emma’s Revolution”—though you do like Raffi, too, who cherishes those middle-of-the night wake-ups when I get to be the one to rock you back to sleep. I sing all the time when I’m with you – because it makes you happy and because being with you makes me so happy. A few months ago, I caught myself waving to you across the kitchen, singing and playing games that made you laugh, and for a moment I had a flash of recognition — a memory of my mother with her grandchild. It made me smile.
I also know that I’m the kind of grandma who has wanted to make the world better for you, for all future generations, and I have worried about the world you have been born into. A year ago, I wrote of how the Dagara people believe that children come into this world bearing wisdom from the cosmos, and it is the role of grandparents to learn all they have to share. What news did you bring? The news that every new life brings – that we come into this world with such a desire to learn and to grow, such curiosity and eagerness, such capacity for love and joy and for a wonder that will help us grow into caring and compassionate people with reverence for the earth if we can but keep this capacity alive. And so, I cannot give into despair, for you have come to remind us – that “a deeply felt connection to all beings in the web of life . . . love of this life, this earth, the joy we know in ourselves and other beings is enough. . . “ to keep us working toward preserving and enhancing that life for all.
I also wrote that a grandparent’s role is “to feel and cherish [the child’s] beauty. . . . fall in love with this magnificent creature . . . celebrate its splendor.” But I think you have also come to teach us that it is not solely my role toward you – which has been the easiest task in the world – but the role of each of us toward every child, every new being — toward all beings.
Thank you for sharing this first precious year of your life with me, dear Martin. I look forward to the next!
Sources Quoted
Christ, Carol P. 1989. “Rethinking Theology and Nature.” In Weaving the Visions: New Patterns in Feminist Spirituality. ed. Judith Plaskow & Carol P. Christ. New York: HarperOne, 323.
Swimme, Brian. The Universe Is a Green Dragon: A Cosmic Creation Story. Santa Fe: Bear & Company, 1985, 32.