Breakfast At Denny’s

I’m 78 years old. And still learning.

Like most Baby Boomers, I’m navigating a digital world with an analog-trained mind.

Every day brings another small victory over technology that Gen X, Y, or whatever letter is the current generational identifier take for granted. 

Conquering self-checkout. Tapping a card instead of writing a check. Remembering which password I used five minutes ago.

You learn to celebrate the little things.

But the most important lessons in life have come from my grandchildren.

That journey began on December 26, 2009, when Corrine Madge Gardiner was born in Asheville, North Carolina.

Carol and I were living in Bloomington, Indiana, 470 miles away.

We made the trip as often as we could. Still, we missed the everyday moments: school plays, concerts, games, and all the little things that make up a child’s life.

Our visits usually revolved around holidays.

We missed a lot.

The English poet Thomas Haynes Bayly wrote, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

He was right, of course.

But I came to understand that the saying carried a lesson of its own. 

If you have a chance not to be absent, take it.  In two words.. 

…BE THERE!

That opportunity came six months later, when our daughter Alison gave birth to twins, Andrew and Elijah Matte, in Kansas City, Kansas.

It should have been seven months later.

Their premature births brought heartbreak no family should have to endure.

Eli died just 20 minutes after birth.

Andrew spent the next six weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit at Kansas City Medical Center.

Those terrible days in May and June left a mark on all of us. 

Gradually, the Matte family began to find its footing again in Manhattan, Kansas, where Drew’s father, Richard, was stationed at Fort Riley.

Our road trips now took us to both Asheville and Manhattan.

We had two grandchildren to be present for.

We would do our best not to be absent.

When Richard deployed to the “sandbox,” Alison and Andrew moved in with us in Bloomington.

Feeding. Burping. Changing diapers. Repeat.

A lost art from 30 years earlier, was revived with a funny smell and a gotcha grin.

I loved every minute of it!

From that time on, Andrew, now known as Drew, began teaching me.

First and foremost, to pray for Eli, whose spirit

 shines through his twin brother.

To be a caregiver.

A companion.

A teller of tales, some fairy, some silly.

And, most importantly, to be present. 

That was easy with Drew living under our roof.

I couldn’t help feeling a deep melancholy about not being as present in Cori’s life in Asheville.

Carol and I visited often. Just not often enough. 

Time moved on.

Babies became toddlers.

The world kept spinning faster while I seemed to be moving slower.

Edgy.

Inadequate.

Flustered.

Fatter.

I snapped at people who didn’t deserve it.

My bark was loud, although my dentures made my bite considerably less daunting.

Even around my grandchildren, I could be an old grouch.

Then one morning, I took three-year-old Drew to Denny’s near the Indiana University campus for breakfast.

We settled into our favorite booth in the corner, where Drew liked to watch life hustle past the big bay window.

Backpacks bustling along, bikes, busses. IU students were always in a rush. 

The waitress approached us then smiled at the serious young man holding a menu, pretending to read it.

Drew finally looked up and sighed.

“I’ll have the usual.”

Without hesitation, she began writing down his order.

“Short stack. Chocolate-chip pancakes, link sausage, chocolate milk.”

Then she turned to me.

“And for you, Grandpa?”

I was too stunned to speak.

The waitress stood there with her pencil poised, waiting for my answer.

I looked at Drew.

The little man holding his menu upside down, already certain he knew exactly what he wanted out of life.

“Coffee,” I finally managed.

“Black?”

I channeled my best Clark Griswold nod without speaking. 

Something special  had happened in that booth.

My three-year-old grandson had become a regular. He was known. He was remembered. 

He belonged.

And I realized I was witnessing something I could never buy, schedule, or recreate later.

A moment that had arrived. 

I was there to see it 

There’s a familiar saying: “Today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.”

I’d heard it plenty of times.

That morning at Denny’s, I finally understood it.

I was present.

It was a present.

And Drew had handed me the gift.

By Don Gardiner

From: United States

X: Don Gardiner