Son of my son

Tyler Goold Williams
Tyler Goold Williams

February 11, 1977 – When my son, Jeremy, was born I phoned my father from the hospital to give him the news. The baby was his first grandchild and my dad said something unintentionally funny.

“A boy, great! Our name will continue.”

“Dad,” I replied, “Williams is the third most common name in the English language. The name is safe.” We both laughed. It was one of those special moments between a father and son that I knew I would remember forever.

28 years and ten days later my son had a son and today is his 19th birthday. It’s a big day for him, bigger than he realizes.

I’ve always thought moms deserve the annual birthday celebrations for having done the physical and emotional work. Creating a human inside of yourself is quite literally an unimaginable miracle.

Fathers are bound to their children, too, but physically less so. We have to work a little harder at finding our way into the spiritual connection mothers create naturally.

“My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.” – Clarence Budington Kelland

Parents and grandparents talk a lot about how quickly time passes. It’s true but what we don’t acknowledge often enough is that the time we’ve spent with our children and grandchildren, fast as it seems to pass, is also infinite.

I’m 72 and I think often of my grandfathers, though I wish I knew them better. I marvel at the similarities between us. I appreciate the lessons they taught me through their sons and daughters.

My father died 22 years ago but I think of him daily. He is still my hero but I couldn’t tell you why. We just have that bond.

“A father’s love is like your shadow, though he is dead or alive, he will live with your shadow” – P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

Tyler Goold Williams, I love you for your birth, for who you’ve become since, and for who you will yet be.  I celebrate each day of your existence. I wish I could hug and laugh with you more often. I hope we’ll spend more time getting to know each other but I assure you this: you are the result of thousands of generations of mothers and fathers who loved one another deeply. You belong in the chain of families whose love created you.

Through all of that, through all of time past and future, you are the only Tyler Goold Williams who has or will ever exist.

That’s why we celebrate birthdays.

Be happy, stay healthy. Live your life as you wish it to be.

Love, Grandpa

PS. Call us sometime. The phone works both ways, ya know.

Grads & Granddads

by Dave Williams

Tyler Goold Williams

Our grandson, Tyler Goold Williams, graduated from high school yesterday, June 9, 2023. Very sad that we weren’t there but we’re as proud as we can be.

The Highlands High Class of 1969 graduated June 10, 54 years ago today. Sandra Delaney and I delivered the commencement speeches. I wrote and delivered a soul-stirring celebration of the golden future that lay before us. It rose in power and passion, ending with a wise admonition to my fellow graduates: “You can take this world by the tail,” I told them, “but you must be quick, lest it leaves you holding the shattered fragments of a crystal dream!”

Our parents and grandparents leaped to their feet with raucous appreciation and affirmation. (I think my inspired use of the word, “lest” sold it.) 

My classmates applauded politely, glad that I was finished. Somebody set off a bottle rocket. One guy near the front flashed his junk at me from beneath his robe.

As we age it is hard to deal with the twists and turns of societal influences and cultural whims. I’m happy to report that family values and traditions are still alive and well.

To my grandson, Tyler, in words my own grandpa might have said to me, “The world is your oyster, kid. Live it and love it.”

 

Beginnings, part 1: Isaiah

by Dave Williams
May 20, 2023

U.S.S. HARY S. TRUMAN

This weekend our grandson, Isaiah King, graduated from his U.S. Navy training and became a certified nuclear engineer. His first assignment will be on board the U.S.S. Harry Truman, an aircraft carrier.

 

Captain Underpants

He’s come a long way from the ten years he lived with us and grew out of diapers to become Captain Underpants.

Isaiah arrived at our home in Glendora, California, with his dad, Nathan, in the early oughts when he was barely 18 months old. They had driven down from Alaska in a beat-up pickup truck in the dead of winter. They needed a place to stay for a couple of months. As things go, they were with us for ten years. It was an unexpected challenge at the time but as I look back on it now, their arrival was a gift. Isaiah was our first grandchild, but also the baby CarolAnn and I would never have together. It also secured our bond with Nathan.

From my shoebox of Isaiah memories…

———————-

One evening when he was very young the three of us were watching TV together and the show we were watching had a woman about to expose her breasts. CarolAnn told her grandson to cover his head with a blanket and not look. He did as he was told. A few moments later, still under the blanket as we watched the show, he asked excitedly, “Are they HUGE?”

———————-

Nathan & Isaiah at Carrows

I was pecking away at my computer one early morning when Isaiah, age 7, came in quietly, picked up the phone from my desk, and rang his dad’s room on the intercom.

“Dad?  Would you come get the peanut butter for me?  It’s too high in the pantry and I can’t reach it. — Okay, thanks.”

“Isaiah,” I said, “I would have gotten the peanut butter for you.”

“I know, Grandpa,” he said wisely.  “I just figured Dad needs to get up and get ready to take me to school.”

————————

“Nana,” Isaiah said earnestly, “I have diabetes.”

My wife and I had no earthly idea what he was talking about.

“What do you mean?” Carolann asked.

“I had to go potty real bad,” the five-year-old explained. “I have diabetes.”

CarolAnn and I stared at each other blankly for another moment or two until, as the Brits say, the penny dropped.

“You mean you have DIARRHEA?”

“Yeah, diarrhea.”

————————–

Sleep peacefully, America. Captain Underpants is maintaining our nuclear navy.

Petty Officer 3rd Class Isaiah King

Copyright 2023, David L. Williams

 

 

 

The frightful power of memories

by Dave Williams
November 12, 2022

Today would have been my mother’s 91st birthday. She died three years ago. I wish I could talk with her today because I have an epiphany to share:

Nostalgia is sweet but stifling. It clutches, refusing to let you go.

She would have been happy for me because the idea makes me happy, but I doubt she would have agreed.

Mom and all her kids

My mother was the dearest, kindest, most giving person I’ve ever known. She was also very smart. She lit every room she entered in a sweet way, laughing and gracious, never commanding. I loved her for all of that.

Mom taught me many important lessons but the one I always remember best is something she told me when I was a very young child:

“This can be a good day or a bad day. It’s up to you.”

She wouldn’t remember that but I think of those words nearly every single morning. They empowered me to be happy. Sadly, it was advice she couldn’t always embrace for herself.

Mom had four children and she doted on us to the point of annoyance.

“All I want is to have all of my kids together with me again.”

That’s what she always said when I’d visit as an adult. As she grew older her sharp humor and wonderful outlook never faded, yet her nostalgic despair grew deeper. It was a deep sadness she masked with her dazzling smile and a small, pretty laugh.

“I just wish we were all still living in Loomis together Those were such wonderful times.”

As I remember it, we loved that home and each other but it was far from wonderful. My dad was overseas much of the time and when he was home he and Mom were both unhappy. They had argued a lot for years; Loomis was the beginning of the end of their marriage but Mom lovingly created and preserved her memories in a photo album of the heart, as we all do. She chose to hold onto the good and forget the bad, bless her. I learned that from her, as well, and I’m grateful for it. The problem was, she embellished her happy memories and lived in them.

Over the past few days, I’ve stumbled across some old family pictures that warm my heart but they also seem distant and foreign. I feel like I’m looking at an old home movie, snips of this and that mixed in a confusion of time. It all seems like several lifetimes ago. My emotions respond but my sense of reality can’t quite connect.

What I see in the past now is how far I’ve come, how much I’ve learned, and how more deeply I love the people and places of my life that made me who I am.

I hold onto the good times and feelings. They excite me about today and tomorrow.

Nostalgia is a nice place to visit but you can’t live there, you can only die there or keep it stashed in your heart and move on.

 

 

 

 

Our 50th Anti-Versary

by Dave Williams

August 21, 2021

50 years ago today I got married. We were both barely 20.

Five years later we had a son. Five years after that we got divorced.

Today is our 50th anti-versary. That’s the term I invented a few years after we split up when the emotional angst was mostly behind me and I realized something I still think was pretty insightful:

Our marriage didn’t fail, it just ended.

Now, 50 years later I’m proud to say that my high school sweetheart is still my close friend.  So is her husband, and they share a happy friendship with my wife of 33 years.

We’ve all shared the best of life over the past several decades: kids, grandkids, a wonderful daughter-in-law and her loving family, holiday gatherings and a lot of happy memories made of special events and activities.

Jeremy & Emily’s wedding, 1997. The kids pledged their eternal love as John and I sealed our family ties.
L-R: Emily’s parents, Gloria and George, Karen, Emily, Jeremy, John, CarolAnn, me.

My wives, former and current, have spent days together shopping and taking the grandsons to Disneyland. This past June my ex and her hubby joined us for a weekend road trip celebrating CarolAnn’s and my anniversary.

Some people think this is highly unusual if not downright weird. But I ask you, how do you throw away 50 years of love and respect out of spite? Why would you do that?

The four of us are separately happy together.

Karen and I learned to keep the good times and dump the bad.

So, happy anti-versary, Karen. Give John a hug for CarolAnn and me.

And thanks, for everything.

Aunt Viettia’s Wise Advice

November 16, 2019:

Viettia Newcomb celebrating her 84th birthday.

Viettia Newcomb is the younger sister of my wife’s late mother. In the 31 years CarolAnn and I have been married Viettia (the second i is silent) has been a happy part of my life and I consider her my Auntie, too. I love her dearly.

At 84 she is a no-nonsense manager of a Northern California mobile home park. She doesn’t suffer fools and will put them in their place but she also laughs all the time and has the most pure and loving heart you will ever find.

Viettia has known great joy, tragedy and hard times in her life and taken their lessons to heart.

She’s also damned smart. She posted the following piece of advice on Facebook today, tagging and addressing specific members of her family but posted for the world to read. With her permission I am sharing it with you here.

This is the best, most down-to-earth parenting advice I have ever read and it doesn’t require a whole book filled with psycho-babble.

Children and parents of all ages, live and learn…

I proudly give you Auntie Viettia:

_____________________

For all my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I have advice. Remember always – advice is free, and you can take it or leave it.

Sing to your babies. Tell them stories, read them stories, and give them your love and attention.

Dry cornstarch is better than any over the counter baby powder you will ever find, and much cheaper.

You do not “spoil” a baby with love. The spoiling occurs when you allow your child to be unruly, or a bully.

Teach your baby love, concern for others, and teach him or her that while you love them, you will not allow them to be unruly. Our basic concern for our children should be that we raise them to be people others will like and admire. We should not allow our babies to be the kind of people others do not want to be around. This training must start early.

To realize the wisdom of this, look at the children of your friends and relatives, and think how you feel about them and how you would wish people to feel about your children.

This advice comes from Grandma aka Great Grandma aka Big Grandma.

I sincerely love all of you, my dears, and I care every day of the world.

 

 

I want a daddy do-over

Tyler’s first day of high school

This past week our youngest grandson, Tyler, started high school. His parents are shocked by how fast he’s grown and I find the whole thing amusing.

Been there, done that.

I was a single parent from the time Jeremy was four years old. The term “single parent” isn’t accurate, of course. Our son had two parents who adored him regardless of our inability to continue living together. Maybe more so because of that. He was the glue that secured the broken bond I had with his mother and he still is. Karen and I remain close because our little boy is 42 now with a rapidly aging son of his own.

I’m just going to say this once because I know he’ll protest and because I don’t want to come across as a nostalgic whiner:

Sometimes I think my son is a better dad than I was.  I want a do-over.

Wait, hear me out.

I’m not saying he loves his kid more than I did. Not possible. It’s just that he’s more deeply involved in his son’s daily life and activities than I was when he was little and I’m sorry about that.

Jeremy & Tyler
Theatrical nuts don’t fall far from the tree.

Aside from the obvious, that one-parent-at-a-time thing, there is a difference in us as people.

For one thing, Jeremy has a sharp mind for mechanics and can build stuff. I’m a mechanical idiot. I will offer that as an excuse for never building him the tree house I always wanted him to have. (That and the fact that we never had the requisite tree, but it still haunts me.) I didn’t have a tree house when I was a kid and I wanted one for both of us.

Jeremy and Emily are scout leaders. I actually tried that when he was little but his Tiger Cub pack of four kids broke up after two or three outings. That group was led by all dads, no moms. Go figure.

More than anything I just wish I had taken my kid to see the world when he was old enough to appreciate it and to give him cherished lifetime memories of the great times and big things we did together.

We didn’t do those things and I’m still kicking myself.

CarolAnn reminds me of all the things we did do when our boys were growing up. We took them on a cruise, we took them to Disneyland and the Grand Canyon; Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone — certainly far more in the way of adventure than either of us had when we were growing up.

Still, there are regrets and I suppose that’s true for every parent who ever watched his or her child leave the nest far too soon.

I should have taken him to New York for Broadway theater, we both love that stuff. Why didn’t I ever take him to London, for that matter? Or to Boston, the cradle of American history?

Regret is just a memory written on my brow, and there’s nothing I can do about it now. -Beth Nielsen Chapman

Missed opportunities never fade completely but like everything else you get over them, you learn to appreciate what you have and reluctantly shrug off the things you just didn’t get around to doing. Sometimes I still want a do-over but these days the thought barely passes my mind before a soothing explanation follows:

Your son is a better dad because you set the bar pretty high and taught him how to clear it.

It took me a long time to spin that story and I’m sticking to it.

 

Every day is Mothers Day

Don & Nancy Williams on their wedding day, Aug. 6, 1950. I was born exactly one year later.

I’m the oldest of four kids born to my mom, Nancy Laura Webster Williams. She was still three months from her 20th birthday when I entered the world. Now, as we approach our 68th anniversary as mother and child I’m still trying to understand our indescribable bond.

Until this past year I could talk with my mother. We’d laugh and love with the sparkle in our eyes meant only for each other and with words that couldn’t begin to explain the depth of who we are together. But this past year she lost her words and laughter.

She lives but she barely knows my name and voice.

Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved. – Erich Fromm

I’m not sad. Her memories of us may be scrambled but she gave them to me for safe keeping.

I remember the songs she sang at home and the silly sense of humor she taught me. I remember her hugs and kisses and all the smart things she said; the pain and tears she shared and the sunshine of her smile that followed.

My mother loves me. She has checked every box in the official Maternal Love and Devotion handbook every single day of my existence. I’m in her heart if not quite secure in her mind.

We are the science of genetics combined with all the flowery words of poets.

Today can be a good day or a bad day. It’s up to you. – Mom

We are a mother and her son.

I will tell her again tomorrow that I love her. She might not hear me but she knows.

Cleaning for the cleaning lady

by Dave Williams

Today is house cleaning Thursday. I always dread it.

A long time ago in an earlier life house cleaning day was Saturday.

Every bloody Saturday.

While the rest of the world slept late and then enjoyed coffee and a leisurely breakfast while weighing their options for a fun weekend, I awoke hating Saturday knowing I’d spend it dancing with the vacuum and mop.

This was my first marriage. We both worked during the week and Saturday was the only time available for house cleaning.

Every bloody Saturday.

“It’s a beautiful day!” I enthused. “Let’s go on a picnic or just take a drive in the mountains!”

No, she explained with thinly-veiled annoyance.  It’s Saturday, cleaning day.

I was a very young man then, never even taught to clean my own room or to appreciate the neatness and order that just seemed to me like the natural state of things. My mother had done it all.

My equally young wife, on the other hand, had been taught to do her share of family chores, to do them correctly and on time.

I tried telling her that the house wasn’t going to get any messier while we were gone but she was disciplined. I hesitate to use words like rigid or inflexible, though they leap to mind. My first wife and her parents were happy, fun-loving people when off duty but they were always sticklers for planning. When I suggested we should “just take a drive a drive in the mountains” I was challenged for a specific destination and plan. I never had one.

It took me years to understand in retrospect that I should have planned to have a plan and not be so spontaneous. It couldn’t have worked, of course. It’s not who I am.

Fast forward: my now and final wife of 30 years, the lovely-and-feisty CarolAnn, is spontaneous like me. We love doing things at the spur of the moment specifically because we’ve made no schedule. Sometimes we even plan ahead to make no plans. Our home has never gotten any messier while we’re away goofing off and we’re both happy with that.

But the problem is the same as it was 40 years ago: we both still work; now in our sixties we’re too tired to clean house and far too rigidly spontaneous to change or care.

And yet, somebody has to do it.

Paying a woman to clean our home every two weeks is a luxury that stretches our budget but as long as I’m still employed it’s worth the expense.

Now I have a new problem:

I have to clean the house before the cleaning lady gets here. It’s better than giving up my Saturdays but it’s still a pain in the ass.

Talk about your spoiled man-child first world problems.

 

Father’s Day in Judgment City

by Dave Williams

Jeremy and me, the early 80s, Fairytale Town at Land Park, Sacramento..

One of my favorite movies is Defending Your Life starring, written, and directed by Albert Brooks. It’s about a man who dies on his birthday and wakes  up in Judgment City, a purgatory-like waiting area where he must justify his life in order to proceed to the next phase of existence. It’s warm and funny and will keep you examining your own life for a very long time.

My son Jeremy loves this movie as much as I do and today is his birthday.

On my birthday 17 years ago, shortly before he died, my dad told me he couldn’t believe he had a son who was 50. I know the feeling.

Jeremy was born 42 years ago today. Like all loving parents at this age I understand that he’s an adult with a family of his own and our relationship has grown with us. But like all parents, in my heart he will always be my little boy.

You have to be careful about that when you talk to a middle-aged child. Occasionally I still have to stop myself from calling him, “Kiddo”.

I’m not going to wax poetic about Jeremy and me. Many fine words have been written about ideal father-son relationships and the bonds of love that can’t be described. I have nothing to add. We know how we feel and how we’ve enriched and informed each other’s lives.

I will say this, however:

I am a far better person for his existence than I would be without his love, influence and instruction.

Parenting is a two-way street. You get as much as you give; you learn at least as much as you teach, probably more.

If you’re happy with who you are today you can thank your children in large measure.

When I arrive in Judgment City I will point fearlessly to my boy down on Earth and testify, “This man is my justification for everything.”