Had a typical afternoon, and by typical I mean I took Grampie (and Thyrza) to the doctor. It was in this office a few months ago, that in helping Grampie fill out paper work, I came across a section about 'sexual function.' 'Maybe you want to read this part yourself,' I told Grampie. He shoved the paper back at me.
"No, read it to me." So in a whisper, I asked, "Have you ever had erectile disfunction?"
"What? You're whispering." He said.
"Erectile Disfunction." I said. The room stilled, I'm sure it did.
Grampie looked at me. "I'm 86 years old," he finally said. "And my bride is 91." Then he shook his hand.
"Enough said," I answered. Really, enough said.
This is a doctor who looks younger than my son, spoke well over the heads of the elders, and when Grampie seemed to (ok, actually DID) get high-centered on his weight loss, Dr. C pulled out his ball-point and drew Grampie a picture of his prostate, urethra and penis right there on the paper covering the table. It was quite the moment. Grampie looked at it, scrunched up his mouth and said, "But what I'm really worried about is that I just keep losing weight." The doctor turned to me, "Ah, now I remember why you came with them." I was still trying to recover from seeing someone draw a picture of Grampie's penis in front of God and everyone (namely me).
The point is, I think I earned my pay today. Not that there's any pay. By the time I got home, Beve asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. So off we went, just the two of us. And as we sat there at Bob's Burgers, we started talking about families. He sees a whole lot of families in his line of work, of course. And we have two very different family backgrounds, so there is plenty of grist for the mill, so to speak, except that Beve doesn't always speak about such things. Well, my Beve was in something of a ruminating mood tonight, which doesn't come around often, so hang on to your hats, grab your pen, take notes, but whatever it takes, remember. And the sentence that had me dropping my Wasabi Chicken Burger (delicious, by the way!) was, "Our kids grew up in such a peaceful home, they really have no idea..." Beve sees kids daily who slam doors, scream at their parents, or have doors slammed on them. Maybe maybe literally on them, until they bleed. He sees kids who are scarred inside and out from things so brutal you can't believe they're walking around, let alone sitting in classrooms trying to study geometry. How in the world can we expect them to learn with such emotional cacophony distracting them. And maybe that's exactly why so many teenagers play their music so loudly--to drown out the painful noise of their own lives.
That's what that one sentence of Beve's evoked for me. Yes, our kids grew up in a peaceful home, and usually I don't even think about it. But it's a gift. And tonight, after a day when I was reminded again of what Grampie is losing (and what Beve and I each might lose someday), I hope that the peace our children knew here has grown into a place of peace they carry wherever they go. So that someday, if they have to go to some doctor's appointment with Beve or me, and we don't have a clue what the doctor is saying, they'll still feel that peace and extend it to back to us.