Virtual-Doug

Touch

Its simply one of those things we know to be true.  Infants and toddlers want to be touched.  We call it “bonding”. Its one of the things children need.  They need the tactile sensation of a parent’s touch.  Watch  kids snuggle up to Mom sometime – they want to be touched

Alzheimer’s has been described as childhood in reverse.  The victims are often childlike, but they do not “grow out of stages” as kids do.  Like children, they want to be touched.

I’ve written about my tussling with Mom.  I make time each day to just act like a kid and rough-house a little with her.  It produces gales of laughter.  If I don’t start jabbing or poking or swatting, she will often do it.  As the disease progresses, I have noticed she just wants to be touched.

During most of my visits, we merely hold hands.  In the absence of sparkling conversation, she merely wants to assurance of being touched.  However – there is still a little bit of devilishness in her – this prim hand holding may soon turn into a sharp elbow in my ribs or a swat on my leg.

(Be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version.)

I didn’t pose this photo – as she does on many occasions, she just put her head on my shoulder.  I fussed to get my camera out, but she didn’t mind and kept her head there.  The expression on her face says it all – she is content when she is being touched.

And I know why she needs the reassurance.  There is a gap between what she can say and what goes on in her mind.  She frequently asks – even demands - to “go home”, and though she is no longer capable of defining home or knowing where home is located, she does know that at one time she had friends who visited and a place where everything was comfortable and warm.  I see her like this often – gazing into the distance knowing something is wrong, yet lacking the words to describe her feelings any longer.

So she wants to be touched.

Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John

Politics and religion:  stay away from those topics.  That’s an old adage, and it is wise advice.

And I’m going to violate both in the same posting.

I was watching Cash Cab (a quiz show) a few days ago.  A young couple was asked “What winter holiday built around African tradition is celebrated each year?”  They quickly answered “Kwanzaa.”  (The couple was white, by the way.)  Later in the contest, they were asked to name one of the four gospels in the Bible.

Name just one of the gospels.

They couldn’t.

This week is a big meeting of bishops of the Episcopal Church.  A decision will be made whether many of the local churches and regional groups (diocese) will leave the Episcopal Church, which is a part of the worldwide Anglican Communion.  “Conservatives” are upset that a gay man was made a bishop and that there are women who are priests.  There is a lot of pressure from the other churches within the Anglican Communion for the American church to renounce its ways.  “Liberals” say that gays and lesbians should be welcome in the church and women have every right to be priests..

I have always described myself as a Christian who happens to worship in the Episcopalian tradition.  Frankly, I have no loyalty to the Episcopal Church, but that because I have little loyalty to organizations, which by their very nature, are bereft of a heart or soul.  My bonds are with people and with God.

With some disdain, I watch the “leaders” of my denomination piss away lots of time, money, and effort worrying about the continued existence of a man made institution.  They are so set in their ways that couldn’t even stay in the same hotel.  The only people who care about this are those who are involved in the organization of the Anglican Communion – and are paid by it.

In the meantime, young people can identify Kwanzaa, but cannot name even one gospel.

It must make God cry.

Crew

I admit it.

Any sport that requires me to get up before the sun is not a sport I could get into.  It would rob me of my beauty sleep.

But I couldn’t pass up the chance to see a sport most Americans don’t see or participate in – the sport of rowing, or crew as it is often known.  My son coached the a boat named “Cre8 Havoc” to the Women’s Masters National Championship (shown practicing in July 2006)  and recently accepted the job as head coach of the high school boys program for a major club in Orlando.  (Be sure to click on the photos to see a larger version.)

The kids were there before dawn.  After a warm-up run of a few miles, they set out the gear and launched their boats.  These boats are not cheap – the club was taking delivery of a new one while I was there.  It cost a mere $24,000.

There were two boats working out that morning, each with high school aged boys whose parents pay for them to be in the program – a program that has been known to produce champion rowers who get college scholarships.  This is neither an easy sport nor an inexpensive one.  I was intrigued to watch how competitive the boys were, even against members of their own team. They wanted to be faster than the other boat.

Coaching is a head game.  Most sports are as much about an athlete’s mental powers as about physical ability.  To see if the rowers could keep their minds sharp even when the body screamed in pain, the coach finished with a top speed session – and constantly stayed on them about keeping technique.  There’s also a mentality of being tough.  Yeah – a baseball player might go on the disabled list with a hang nail, but these guys are more like hockey players.  This young man had fallen during the warm-up run and gotten some pretty good scrapes.  That wasn’t going to stop him from bustin’ his buns on the lake.

Of course, the work isn’t over once the boat is off the lake.  It has to be washed first.  It was interesting to note how careful they were to be sure no soap got into the lake.  Their environmental concern was good to see.  Once things were put away, the team still had to endure a skull session with the coach as they discussed technique.  You can see how enthralled the kid in the middle of the picture is with all the talk.

He wanted to be back on the water.

The Return

As Mark Twain once said, “The news of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”  Thanx to those of you who inquired via email if I was okay.  I merely took a few days and flew to Orlando to be with our son and his family.  Grandpa had a blast.

You see, I got to spend glorious evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Middle America. Noses buried in their laptops, they occasionally spoke to one another, but the subject matter was usually about work.  My son has two jobs – teaching high school social studies and coaching boys rowing.  My daughter-in-law also has two jobs – administering the school district’s math programs and tending to my son.  (The latter is the more difficult job.)

(Be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version.)

Ah, but it’s the grandkids I went to see.  After all, my son and daughter-in-law are adults.  They’re too much like me.  Kids, on the other hand, are  - - well - - kids!

The sixteen year old is driving.  While Mom and Dad clucked and worried, I felt perfectly comfortable as she drove the family minivan around town.  She’s a level-headed girl and I have no doubt she will get the hang of driving.  Within a few months, she too will be able to text message, tune her iPod, talk with a friend in the passenger seat, and drive - - all at the same time.

The only male in the younger generation is the creative one – a bit edgy (though that may due to his recent ascendancy to being a wild and crazy teenager) but also a bit drifty in a nice sort of way.  This shot captures his personality rather well.  He was disappointed recently when he failed to make the school soccer team – he was one of the last ones cut from a very good program.

At the youngest end of the spectrum is the sweetheart in the middle – and who can compete against photos of pretty girls and a cute dog?  Mom’s heart is following the last of her brood as she becomes a young woman.  Personally, I’m not worried about her growing up as much as I am about the trail of broken hearts she will leave behind in school.

No broken hearts for the oldest.  She is a college student this year – another new adventure in life.  She’s also found a young man.  After meeting him, I think she has good taste.  He’s hardworking, respectful, and has worked hard at his education.  Even better, he will provide that extra special push she might need to study hard.  If Grandpa has only one fear, its that being a Great Grandpa can’t be too far away.

No thanx – I’m too young to be a Great Grandfather.  I just hope my son and his family remember me as a great Grandpa.