February 2005 Issue - Essay # 6
A
Family Portrait
By
Wayne Scheer
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"She's beautiful! She's beautiful!" My son, normally as inhibited as I, charged into the hospital waiting room flapping his arms like a five-year-old running to the wrong base after hitting a T-ball. His wife had just given birth to their first child. Our first grandchild. "She's beautiful," he repeated, hugging his mother, then me. He waved for us to follow him to the room where Kellie lay exhausted and smiling, while our new granddaughter was cleaned, weighed and inspected like a pork roast at a butcher shop. My wife offered no hesitation. She kissed Kellie and almost grabbed the baby from the nurse before allowing the squirming infant to be with her mother. I stood back and watched, unsure of my new role. My wife switched naturally from Jewish mother to Jewish grandmother. Kellie held her daughter close, stroking the baby's fine light brown hair. My son leaned over the bed, kissing his wife and their baby, his hand just over his daughter's bottom, poised to protect her. I considered whom I should go to first: my wife, who was already pulling out her cell phone over the protests of the nurses; Kellie, who I still felt awkward around; my son, or the new baby. I knew instinctively I had to prioritize, although no one but I would remember. I wanted to be a part of my son's new life, of course, but I didn't want to be in the way. I loved the idea of playing grandpa, but I knew it would entail as much restraint as it did involvement. Typically, I was spending this intimate family moment inside my own head. My wife felt no such dilemma. She already had the new parents shaking their heads and laughing as she cradled our granddaughter, deciding which family member she most closely resembled. Finally, wrapping my arms around my wife, I eased her away from the new family convincing her to return the baby to her parents. We stood aside to observe, my wife in tears. "Are you crying because you're happy," I asked, "or because the nurse made you put away your cell phone?" She laughed, and I realized that joking would be one of my new responsibilities. After a few moments, I kissed Kellie on the cheek and squeezed my son's shoulder. "Dad, do you want to hold her?" Kellie asked. As I took this beautiful, innocent being into my arms, I felt my eyes fill up. "Hey," I asked. "Is it possible for a grandfather to experience spontaneous lactation?" |
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Author's Biography After
teaching writing and literature for twenty-five years, Wayne Scheer
retired to follow his own advice and write. |
Essay
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