A few days before Christmas, my brother and I drove into Ottawa to pick up Doug at the airport (I came to Canada a couple of days ahead of him to spend extra time with my family). Because we had my four-year-old niece along with us, a good portion of the drive was spent playing imaginary games – she is horse-crazy, so Pegasus figured heavily into flying games, as did reindeer, of course, it being the Christmas season. But my brother is a musician, and so it wasn’t long before music became part of our drive as well – mostly recent music, and though not kid’s per se, definitely kid-friendly. At one point, however, David pulled out a classic from our youth, “America” by Yes, and we spent a fun quarter-hour belting out the song at the top of our lungs.
Lucky girl - she'll know music from every generation, every genre... though from her expression, I don't think "Yes" is to to liking just yet.... On the way to the airport to pick up Uncle Doug.
We were so enthusiastic, in fact, that other drivers were smiling in our direction when we stopped for a red light. And I had one of those moments. You know the kind. It is as if you are glimpsing a snapshot of your life, viewing it from someone else’s perspective – and here is what I saw: two fifty-somethings, accompanied by a four-year-old, on the way to pick up another fifty-something from the airport. From that perspective, it would only be normal to surmise that that this group was a grandfather and a great-aunt with young Elizabeth, on the way to meet her great-uncle…. It made me smile. Because here we are, old enough to be the grands and greats all around – but we’re not. We are only one generation apart.
Lynda and Elizabeth
There are, of course, disadvantages to the age difference – when E. graduates from university, we will all be in our seventies… and sometimes, the energy of a four-year-old is a little overwhelming to her aunt. But that would probably have been true even when I was in my thirties, as I don’t have children of my own. Physically, we fifty-somethings are in very good shape – and the odd arthritic knee is of no more consequence when playing on the floor than when running on a trail. On the whole, I think that we are all very lucky. Elizabeth, Axel and Nick are growing up surrounded by mature, stable adults (well, more mature and stable than at 25, anyway…), all of whom have a wonderful sense of humour, an appreciation for the magic of childhood and an infinite amount of love to give. They will be learning the lessons of so many generations, exposed as they are to the music, art, literature, opinions – the entire culture, in fact – of a vastly multi-generational family. They have received the gift of a widely diverse, very extended family – a family that, despite the age differences, also includes grandparents and cousins, great-aunts and great-uncles.
And the gifts they give in return? Unconditional love, with the whole-body-thrown-at-you hugs of four-year-olds; the thrill of recognizing a quirky sense of humour, a family trait… and the shy glances of 12-year-olds, looking to see if you get their jokes; the punch-to-the-gut sweetness of 10-year-old boys, unselfconsciously showing off their talents; the ability to remember, once again, what it was like to think that anything is possible; in short, the chance to see the world through the eyes of youth, still fresh and not yet jaded.
It is a satisfyingly reciprocal relationship that this oddly-spanned, multi-generational family has been blessed to receive. Even though, living in Texas, I don’t get to participate in it as often as I would like, I am enriched by it nonetheless. And I go home warmed by the knowledge that, in one little town in the Great White North, in a family as unconventional as you could ever find, the old-fashioned notions of home and love, the values of FAMILY, are strong and alive, and being passed on.
Generation after generation.
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