Circle Of Tiny Hands

"look papo, it's a sword!!" Our grandson Jaidon yelled in excitement as he picked up a stick. I murmured to myself about how dirty it was but the big glowing grin on his face made me swallowed my disgust at how dirty the stick looked.

It was covered with moss AND a little bit of Spanish Moss. I gently pulled away the Spanish Moss for I had been warning him that it might make him itch due to the chiggers.

Nevertheless, he waved the "sword" with all his might while a big smile along with his blue eyes sparkled under the winter sun.

We had been trekking for awhile now, through one of the parks near us where an old anchor is now a town Sculpture. it is "anchored" down by two rebars and has a big plaque that boasts about its history during the old marinetime wars in our tiny town.

It is surrounded by chained links but none of that mattered to Jaidon.He inquired as to what it was but stopped listening after I got to the ship part and determined that he didn't liked the word "anchor".

So he decided to call the anchor, "SHIP".

A self proclaimed "good guy" that loves to fight the "bad guys" (guess who's always the bad guy? ) he immediately looked for a sword which was the twig/stick and so there I was, being "killed" by this dirty old moss covered sword.

There were just the two of us in this big empty park that is surrounded by old angel oak trees and a swing and of course, the "Ship".

The grassy ground were our ocean as Jaidon chased the bad guy and claimed himself victor each time as the bad guy would shout in agony right before his demise and fall to the ground only to be poked to be asked to be alive again just to be killed, again.

His crisp and youthful voice echoed through the park with constant laughters and I would see drivers passing by with big smiles on their faces...

Jaidon's golden hair glistened beneath the sun and the occassional breeze would blow his hair that revealed innocence and immaculation in his beaming eyes...

But exhaustion was to follow sooner or later and in this case, much too later for this old papo...I finally was able to pursuade him to head home so we could watch some TV and have our snacks and some drinks.

He reluctantly agreed but asked to if he could keep his sword and I smiled and nodded with approval.

I reached out for his tiny hand and down the blocks we walked as we journeyed to our home...his tiny hand was cold at first but soon warmed up in mine and I could feel how "meaty" it was and how squirmy it was. His tiny fingers are not delicate but soft and they felt like sponges in my hand...

Tight yet gently I held his hand while his eyes scouted the surroundings with enthusiasm. His hand finally relaxed in mine as if trusting me with all his might while he asked questions on almost every single objects that we passed...the 10 minute walk to home became a 40 minute jaunt full of questions and curiosities that can only come out of a 3 yo that made my heart smile.

With each funny question I couldn't help but laugh and jerk my hand that transmitted to his hand while happiness jolted and rejuvenated my clouded mind.....I doubted, somehow, even Einstein was able to answer some of his questions and that made my chest puffed a little, as if I was now in the same league as Einstein.

I looked up to the sky, it was clear and blue...I turned to look at Jaidon and I grinned a toothy grin and he reciprocated in kind...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My grandma started to walk with a limp when I was about 6 yo. Mom said she had become diabetic and that her feet hurted and swelled and that's why she walked that way.

She had come up to see my brother and me but my brother was at his friend's house when she arrived.

Grandma was happy to see me and she immedately took me out to spend some alone time with her. I was thrilled to have some alone time with her.

There was a big park close to us where parts of it had some old beat up walls surrounding it. Some of the walls had the bricks beneath the mortars showing and there were a lot of patched up plasters here and there while the base of the wall was yellow...a light canary yellow....the dusty red bricks along with the patches against the yellow wall with parts of it dilapidated made very interesting contrasts.

To me, it was a major eyesore but grandma liked the walls...she said it reminded her of when she was small when her father would walk her by these very same walls and that the patches made it even better...

I didn't get it...

I could see that grandma was walking like a penguine and in pain so I asked her why she was walking funny.She reached out her hand and held mine as she started to talk about her pains and her swollen feet and asked me if I would like become a doctor one day so that I could cure her of her ailments.

I nodded my head with determination and told her that I would one day and that I would cure her of her pain with a strong conviction in my voice. She smiled brightly at me and held my hand tighter.

Her hand felt a bit "dry" and wrinkly but there was a stream of warmth that flowed from her through me...I held her hand carefully as to not to hurt her but also was firm enough to let her know that I loved holding her hand as we walked and talked along with me shooting constant questions at her left and right...

She would turn and smile at me on occassion and her wrinkled face looked like there were 10 lips smiling and it made me smile...

The Sun was behind her yet I could remember her eyes sparkled as I felt more warmth from her hand to mine.

A deafening siren sounded sometime during our walk that frightened me as I held her hand tighter while I clutched her arm with my other hand. She held me tight and asked me if I was scared...I told her no, although I was...but I knew I was safe because she held my hand in such a way that the world felt...SAFE.

We walked and walked and she never let go of my hand while she limped the whole way.

I remembered...and I remembered that I made a promise to myself that I was going to cure her one day.

That day, though, I was just happy to hold her hand as if I was guiding her and I was proud of myself for leading my grandma because I had become such a grown up now while I showed and told her what I thought I knew...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaidon was now done asking me questions and was now telling me why this flower was this way and that tree was that way. Now he was showing off his "knowledge" about everything and the logics and what came out of his mouth made me chuckled and smiled.

He'd put such definitive tones about his reasonings as to why things were how they were and I could only answer with an "uh huh..." here and there and grin to myself.

Yet ,to him, it affirmed his answers so that he felt proud and a grown up that I could feel the "glow" in his hand through mine while he puffed out his chest with pride.

Thoughts of grandma holding my hands from long time past crossed my mind and I wondered if he felt as safe in my hand as I'd felt mine in my grandma's...All of a sudden, I thought to myself...."I got it!!" as the flowers and the trees and the houses turned into plaster patches and old dusty bricks on the yellow dilapidated walls......

(© 2009: Ed F.) (written on 02-01-09)

[*due to some circumstances, we had to take Jaidon back with us after we visited up north back in the beginning of Jan, 2009.

We left early that morning and didn't get back to our home here until late that night...

that night was the very first night in his life that he had been alone without his sister.

In the three short years of his life, she's been his only constant through the many different places they've stayed. She was his only consistent safetly net.

While our adventures on the long trip was fun and exciting, that night, he had a reality check when we put him in his own room which he was actually excited all day about and now he was scared and was now asking for his sister.

He cried and we tried...

da wife had to go to work the next day so I asked her to go to bed while I stayed up with him...we talked while I held him in my arms...

For the first time in my life...I felt something unfamiliar within me...it is different from wanting to protect my family or my wife...it is something more than wanting to protect him...it is a nexus that I am still not able to explain...

If I have to use the word, BONDED, then that word would have to be powered to the X...perhaps some chemical changes happened inside me(womenopause??) when I put him back in bed and I reached out and touched and held his tiny hand...

there was something special and unexplanable when something so small is in my hand...how could something so small feel just as warm as my hand...how could something so small be so powerful...enough to make a man wanting to fight a lion?

the remnants of tears still on his face slowly dried as he began to fell asleep, his apple like cheeks a little chafed from the travel and the cold, his long eyelashes curved skyward creating a smile below each eyebrow......

he's a thumb sucker so his lips were busy but with the other hand, he held my hand tight...as I held his tight...something surged through me...it connected us...at that very moment, I knew...

Both of them were here last October for a month and while I fell in love with them. I still wasn't totally sure that I was 100% readyto take on two very active kids on a more permanant basis.

But at the moment that our hands touched, I knew....

When the power of little fingers and soft palm rested in my cracked fingers and my big callous hand, the question of why mothers would die for their children was answered in my mind...

I closed my eyes and I told myself that I would do whatever it is that I need to do to ensure that he grows up safe and strong and protected...

But back then, it was just a mission.

now, it's love.... ]

Bubbly...

My first recollection of effervescence was when I was about five years old. I remembered that my brother and I were visiting our God mother and she offered us sodas.

Now, we grew up drinking nothing but water. No juice, no milk (well, we were breast fed but don't have recollections of those) and once in a long long while, we'd get a taste of soda: Sarsparillas, to be exact. it was one of those rare treats, not only because it was sweet and delicious, but also because I always enjoyed watching the soda foam while it was being poured into a tall glass on a hot summer's day.

As that dark nectar would start to cascade into the glass and the brown bubbles would rise, I often could not wait to to sip up the foams as soon as it was handed to me because I was afraid that I might not get to suck down as much of the bubbles as possible.

My brother seemed to enjoyed it as much as I did and we'd often throw in that satisfied grin toward each other while we sucked down that delicious froth as it tingled and popped in our mouths which would always be followed with goofy laughters. Somehow, the bubbles made us goofy....

Nothing seemed to matter while we sucked down and enjoyed the luscious drinks and all our troubles (if any) were left behind at that moment...

Some years later, sodas became easier and easier to come by for us. The effects of the bubbles seemed to have worn off a bit. But by then, I had discovered blowing into sodas with a straw.

It was a different kind of bubble, one that made the soda tasted nasty pretty quickly as it would lose its fizz. But some how, the bubbles still intrigued me as I would enjoy watching it form in the cup and watched it popping away my troubles into nowhere land...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was one of those days--- mother nature didn't know what she wanted to be. She started with a bit of a darkside by throwing an overcast of hundreds of cotton candy faces that lined the sky, then she let the sun came out for a few minutes but the impish clouds would soon find that was enough and blocked the sun with SPF 3000.

The rain drops chimed in for a few minutes here and there with its cameo appearances but could never seem to upstage any of its breathrens. The winds danced angrily most of the day but did calm itself in bits here and there...

A day of unpredicabilities...

I woke up that morning a bit unstable myself. The little grandson had been waking us up with heartbreaking tears throughout the night for the past couple of nights along with some raining of the bedsheets of his own.

Both da wife (a term of endearment that I call my dear lovely wife) and I had been a bit worn out by him.

But the designs of men and women truly shown during these "tests". A total trooper, she would be the first one to get up to hug, comfort and change him without any complaints and did it all with loving gazes and then she would get up at 5am and head to work after being restless the rest of the night.

All without a complaint.

I tried my very best to hang with her but it must be mother nature's idea to make men the inferior sex when it comes to parenting. Because while I tried my very best, I could never made it through without at least a little mumbling and grumbling.

That morning found me to be in a lot more pain than usual. My physical pains had been advancing a bit quicker than I anticipated. That along with the lack of sleep as of late brought to light another side of me: "Tenebrous Man" , I call him...

I am not a big "Longfellow" fan. His materials were required reading in school and I disquired it after I read it and gave report on it. But there was one sonnet/phrase that I retained through the years: "Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress/Met in a dusky arch".

I remembered looking up the word tenebrous and said to myself, that's me...and in the years since then, Mr. Tenebrous Man would become my Mr. Hyde to make myself remember that sentence, I changed it to: Over their eggs easy, the towering ten neighbors bought the sod press/Met in Starsky and Hutch".

Maybe it's the day, maybe it was the night before, maybe it was just the way it was. But the kids started that day off less cherubic and more elfinic(wanted to use the word "devilish" but they are too cute to be consider hellions). Unpredicability was the theme that day.

Everything took longer than usual. Teeth brushing found them making paste bubbles while they tried to talk; hair brushing found the follicles fighting and strangling each other by the strands; even tasks as simple as putting the socks on, took on the seams not right on the toes thus creating chaotic moments for the little feet that brought defeat to my hands as I tossed them up in the air while I deeply sighed.

As the weather itself was being whimsically impish throughout the day, all of our moods swung in pendulum arcs along. I found myself short and terse and lacking patience. The kids must have felt that and found themselves in time outs more than usual.

It got so bad that at one point, I had forgotten that I had put one of them in time out and it was only when the other one reminded me that I remembered to go retrieve the poor little shortfellow( he might be Longfellow one day at the rate he's growing).

That day also found us in a bit of catching up with errands and for some strange reason, I would always forget to unbuckle one of them with each stop. What made me even more perturbed was that instead of telling me before I would pull out of the parking space/lot. They would wait until I was well down the road before whomever I'd forgotten to lock up would remind me, "Pappo, you forgot to buckle me..."

Not sure whether to laugh, cry, or panic about getting pulled over by a cop, I'd pull over quickly while glaring at them with big bulging bubbling boiling pupils.

We pulled over to McDonald's and ordered some happy meals . Chocolate milk was part of the deal if they would behave.

On our way home, while they dug into their lunches, I could hear laughter coming from behind me. They were both blowing bubbles into their chocolate milk. I was not sure what it was that made them giggled about it. My first inclination was to ask them to stop because I didn't wanted them to make a mess.

But I hesitated...

And as I listened to their laughters, it was "bubbly" with each blowing sound they were making into the milk bottle. Such simple pleasure from such a simple act. That pure innocence that I had long forgotten. It was something that my brother and I used to do to our sodas...

I felt my anger effervescing and disappearing as I enjoyed their laughters the rest of the way home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not sure when it started but the kids are now finding bodily noises particularly funny. Making gas noises from both orifices had become an endless and longest running joke amongst them.

Of course, they are smart enough to always following it with an: Excuse me !!

But I know THAT "excuse me" was just to cover up the churlish act that they'd just performed.

They'd discovered how to get away with murder. Because we made the mistake of telling them that they need to say excuse me when the burps and flatulences would come and then that it was O.K.

And it is not like they can help by STOPPING it. Because, after all, not even I, an adult, can control those functions.

So now, they have found the trick to dispense these gases without getting reprimanded from us.

OK, I can live with that.

The problem is that ,NOW, I have to say excuse me ALL the time also... for over 20 years, I don't think I'd had to apologize for passing gas or burping in my own home.

But now, I am finding myself saying "excuse me" quite often. And I am finding that quite annoying.

The other issue is that these kids have a super sense of hearing, WHEN IT COMES TO GAS. It's funny how when they are watching TV or playing, they can NEVER EVER hear me when I would call them. Even after a hundred times...no reply.

But try burping or let one rip while I am in the kitchen while they are in their own rooms and they'll come rushing out and say it with a big grin: "Pappo, you forgot to say excuse me!!"

"But you were not in the room!"

"But I heard you!!"

grrrrrrr "Alrighty..." I would hang my head in defeat, "excuse me...." (eyes rolling...)

Of course, we all know that in order to teach children good manners, we, the "adults" have to set good examples ourselves.

So, there was no way out of this one...

BEANO® has now become a regular on our grocery list...because if I have to apologize about 50 times a day again for "bubbling"....I think I would....

....Burst....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was always envious of the kids who could afford the bubbles in our classes. I can remember asking my mother if we could buy some and she would always give us a tale about why we couldn't afford the bubbles.

Whether it was because elephants in India needed them to bathe in and we should save it for them or Turkish folks would need them for their baths. There was always a reason why we couldn't afford to buy bubbles.

One day, I went to one of my classmates' house. He taught me how to make bubbles. He chipped off some laundry soap and placed them in warm water and then added a dash of shampoo (which was also NOTcheap back then) to it and voila, we'd get our own bubbles.

We also made our own straws out of our notebook papers. Although we went through the papers like crazy, we discovered that we could make bigger bubbles by making the cones wider.

I couldn't wait to get back home to show my brother the new trick. As soon as I got home, I dragged him along with the laundry soap. That big brown rectangular block along with my mom's favorite shampoo.

One thing I didn't figure in was HOW much shampoo. So I squeezed what I had thought was an adequate amount (which was nearly half the bottle). We got excited as the spume formed and as it got bigger and bigger, we got more and more excited...

However, when we tried our "straws" with it, we couldn't get any bubbles out. I was thoroughly embarassed and decided to pour even more shampoo in (the rest of the bottle).

By now, that water looked liked the "BLOB" and could swallow us both up. Even worse, we could not blow any bubbles with it.

Disappointed, I dumped it all out into the sink. But when I ran the water to run it down, it started to foam up the sink. I was now scared and didn't know what to do (hold that thought before you say it out loud) and I started to panic.

My brother started to run for our room and I just bursted into tears. (now you can say it, TURN OFF THE WATER, IDIOT!!!!)

Luckily, my mom came home soon at some point after that and turned off the faucet. We got spanked and I never got to make homemade bubbles again.

But I did get to play it at my classmates house, though... He lived in a very tall, towering apartment complex and we were allowed to go all the way up to the roof.

We would take our bubble mix and our arsenal of straws, each one good for about 3-5 blows. And would blow bubbles and watch it travel down.

Rarely, does one make it all the way down but once in awhile, when one would, we would yell and shout out in joy.

Whenever the sun would reflect the bubbles and dress it with rainbow colors, I could feel my heart soar with the bubbles and all my troubles would float away with it until it bursts.

Each bubble carried an agitation, or a smile, or a tear, or simple happiness, all mixed into legions of bubbles each carrying out its own mission. And with each burst, it took us away...somewhere unknown that only happiness was known...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After lunch that day, I was not sure what happened but I started to get a bit moody again, just like the capricious climates outside...

Maybe it was the pain that was getting to me. Maybe it was the haze that I have been feeling as of late.

I cannot seem to concentrate on anything for more than five minutes. Things that would usually take me a few minutes to complete would now take me 10 times more to accomplish. Annoyance seemed my best companion anymore as I could NOT get myself out of this self-disgusted rut...

I stared out the porch as the rain drizzled gently onto the pavement of our driveway. The kids were looking out the porch as well...bored out of their minds because they couldn't go out and play and I was too exhausted to read to or play with them.

The three of us just stared out the screened porch and the two of them started to converse in their own universe. Every little thing was capturing their attentions. From the birds that would come to our feeders to the geckos that was hidden behind the posts.

But I was still quite annoyed even though somewhere deep within, I was quite enjoying their conversation because it was---bubbly...

Our friends, Steve and Katherine, had brought over some bubbles in a long tube awhile back for the kids and I recalled that he told me to use it for "one of those days".
When the rain stopped, those words popped into my head... I got all three of us outside. I took the wand out of the tube and could see a giant soapy film waiting to be born into a bulbous rotound sphere...

As I glided the wand into the wind and multiple giant bubbles began to dance and float and fly into the air...

bubbles of anger, angst, anguish, frustrations and pain...POOF...as they dispersed and popped in the sky...only to be followed by bubbles of laughters that could only be created.....by those with the age of innocence...

(© 2009 by: Ed F.)(written May 23, 09)

For My Father, Piter...

"Gardening, I am, the fruit of my father..."

When I was growing up well into my adulthood I could never understood WHY people loved gardening.

I mean, I enjoyed the beauty of the flowers and the bushes and plants and I enjoyed eating the fruits of people’s labors.

But I just couldn't see myself getting down knee deep into the dirt (hey, that’d ruin my jeans!); nor could I made myself digging with my hands into the dirt (the thoughts of worms crawling beneath the dirt would make me shiver(And hey! I’d get dirt under my nails!! Yuck!); nor could I picture myself wearing those silly sun hats or holding a tiny shovel that looked like something that belonged to Alice in Wonderland, where it should be the "Queen.

"Images of Rosa(I think her name was Rosa?), a neighbor that lived two doors down from me when I was in college, clad in her flowery sunhat, kneeling on her one bad knee (actually, I think both of her knees were bad), while holding up her tiny spade that I called a spatula (she’d always correct me," that’s a mini-spade, not a spatula!") in one hand and waving while the other hand clinging to a sunflower, or a bush-twig, or some sorta plant along with her dirt covered face as I drove by her house, always made me smiled AT her.

I’d always nod at her and yell out my window, “hi Ms. Rosa! What are you planting today?”

She’d often smile and yell back at me for me to come and help her to get up because of her bad knees.

That image never left my mind beyond my college years. I’d often thought, what a sweet but DUMB lady? She had bad knees and fair skin, what the heck was she doing in dirt and out under the hot sun? What kind of life was that?? Me, I'd rather sit inside insulated by the cool air conditioner with a tall glass of iced tea.

Now that, IS life!

I could remember neighbors or friends that gardened would always bring us the product of their labors: veggies, fruits, flowers. And I was always amazed at how fresh the veggies and fruits were, or how much prettier the flowers were compared to the ones you’d find at the florists.

But I sure was glad that there were someone out there that were willing to get down and dirty!

"Better them than me!" I'd often thought to myself, " I’ll just sit here and enjoy THEIR fruits of labor.

"My father passed away on July 5th, 2003. He died a miserable and lonely man. Congested heart failure and diabetes robbed him of his health and made him weak and emaciated.

In the last 18 months of his life, I saw an otherwise healthy man, losing over 80 lbs almost overnight, sleeping only an hour or two a day, falling into a major depression that he didn’t even realized he had, turned into someone that looked like a total stranger to me.

This was NOT the man that I knew?!

The muscular, strong, often times smart-alec, and sometimes mean father?

No, not this frail, pathetic looking man??

It was like watching a flower withering away right in front of me…

My father shared the same philosophy toward gardening as I did. He hated dirt.

Now, He loved to dig dirt for worms to fish with because he looooved to fish.

But digging into dirt to plant something?? Forget about it…

But before he became so debilitated, he, GARDENED…

About three years before he passed away, I saw my father and my mother planted a tiny vegetable/fruit garden in their backyard.

He’d just gotten news of his congested heart failure and was forced to quit his job. This was a man that had ADHD and couldn't sit still for one second to save his life. So, my mother suggested to him that they’d garden to keep his times occupied.

Besides, the benefits of eating his own produces appealed to him.

So, there they were, planting and sweating and I would just watch and smile and shake my head. I was working nights plus extra jobs; I could barely keep my head above water.

So, "don't even bother asking me to help," I'd thought.

The man that was my father, changed infront of my eyes…he’d go outside religiously and watered daily; he'd pull weeds while getting down and dirty.

And whenever I’d see him bring in the “children", he’d have such satisfaction on his face that I’d rarely seen it was as if he had won the lottery...

The youngest of 10 children, his father had him at a late age and seemed to have abandoned him emotionally. He was raised by mean dogmatic brothers, and canonistic sisters. He seemed to have searched his whole life for a sense of belonging but never seemed to have found.

He was always the life of a party. Always the first one to start a game, or sing, or clown around. He wasn’t shy to take the microphone during a tour bus ride when the tour guide asked for a volunteer to sing other tourists on to ease the long hours on the bus.

He was always the show-off and was considered the comedian of any group he was in.

Some said that I have gotten my sense of humor from him. I didn’t realize that until after the end of his life.

Yet, he died lonely and without friends…none of his “friends” showed at his funeral. No co-workers, no one…only his family (one brother and one sister and some nephews and nieces showed) and immediate family and the friends of ours(that didn't even knew him) showed.

The man, who tried become popular, or in a better sense, loved, died an irony of what he thrived for…

But I saw the joy on his face whenever he’d take in his “edible kids".Especially the eggplants, he just loved them. He’d sauteé them ever so gently and sniffed and whiffed the aroma while his eyes closed as if he was in heaven.

When I’d watch him sit and eat them on those occasions. He was like the proudest father of all and the savoring of the flavors would flow all over his face. It would always made me grin.

Unfortunately, he got sicker and sicker with dementia and he became dangerous in the kitchen. Eventually,we had to ban him from the kitchen for we'd had too many close calls with fire.

The utmost fear was that he would've burn himself to death if none of us were around although we tried to make sure that someone was always at the house watching over him.

His depression took over and he became thinner and thinner, emaciated to the point of a stick.

This was a man, whom, at one time I thought could take on Ali; now, wizening and dying, right in front of my very eyes…and as he deteriorated, the garden he so loved, shared the same fate...

A few weeks before he passed away, we became closer like we’d NEVER been before. I’d cook for him (he actually looked forwarded to my cooking). I’d spent almost all my free waking hours talking to him, trying to make him exercise, trying to boost up his spirit. I even got down into dirt…

I planted a tiny rosemary bush outside the steps where he could see when he’d do his breathing exercises when he was outside. In my heart, I had hoped that he would be able to see the rosemary grow up big, green and strong. I wanted him to have a sense of hope, to see some sort of “life” thriving infront of him. I wanted him to smell the aroma infront of him. To awaken that brain that had long been hibernating and given up.

The rosemary bush was actually given to me a year earlier by a dear friend, Tam, that passed away 6 months before my dad’s death. She loved rosemary. And when she visited me, we talked about plants and how I loved to eat them but hated to plant them. So, she got me a pot of mixed herbs, with rosemary being the center piece.

The herbs came all pretty and adorned and I didn’t have to get dirty. All I needed was to water it daily. But when Tam passed away, I gave up on the plants. And they all faded away. Interestingly enough, few weeks before my dad died, I saw the rosemary peeking its tiny green arm out…and I thought to myself, “it is a sign…” So I replanted the rosemary in hopes of a good sign.But all signs turned into a dead end. The rosemary withered, my father wizened. And now both are underneath dirt…

dirt that I have been avoiding, afraid of getting into most of my life…that’s where my dad now resides…I was so angry the first few weeks…I was full of confusion, resentments, but most of all, questions…

“WHY???” I'd ask...

“I DON’T KNOW…” I'd answer

“I Don’t know??” That was my answer?? I can’t accept that as my answer…I HAVE TO HAVE SOMETHING!! Look where he is, in dirt!! IN DIRT!!!!!! MY FATHER!! Whom was alive, and now, he is beneath dirt!!! And the only answer that I have is: "I DON'T KNOW???" Oh, CURSE YOU!! Ole Creator, curse you!!

Believe me...I cursed...I wanted to go into the dirt with him…my heart was beneath the dirt already…it had always been, battling my own depression and suicidal thoughts, it was buried long ago…

perhaps that was why I was afraid of dirt, afraid that I would not have been able to resist of wanting to be one with dirt...

But now, I physically wanted to rip my heart out and shove it in there with him…to show him…Show him what…that I have a heart?? That I wished I could’ve tried harder? That I wished we could’ve had more time?? That we could’ve….this and that and whatever???TOO LATE!!

Wait…"DIRT…"

The flowers we’d bring to him, always seemed to attract insects…butterflies and crickets and bees…

One time, I sat in front of his marker and was blinded by tears…then, I asked the WHY’s and was left with the I dunno’s…

but then, when I wiped my eyes, I saw…“LIFE…”Wait, how could there be LIFE at a cemetery?? It was full of dead people!! DEAD DEAD DEAD, everywhere I glanced were DEATH!! Death and DIRT, that was all I saw!!

But wait, I was WRONG!!There IS life!! A beautiful forest rested on the backdrop of his gravesite. A beautiful garden sat in the center of the cemetery. And birds were singing in the distance, insects were chirping. Flowers were blooming.

I rubbed my eyes…I smiled…"LIFE…"

A few months after he passed away, a dear friend of mine(who is now known as, da wife) talked to me about how her mother and the her neighbor shared the duty of a garden every year…and I felt myself interested, wanting to learn more…I had planted a couple of things since that discovery of dirt/life. But I have always managed to kill whatever I planted…

This dear friend(who is now my dear wife) lived close enough and her schedule seemed to match mine. So, we talked of a garden behind my house. Then one sunny day, we digged and dugged and dugged some more…we haul, hauled, and hauled some more…until we have a tiny veggie garden in the backyard. It was simple enough, with just 6 tomato plants, a row of soybeans, 6 eggplant plants (hard to say eggplant plants, good thing we didn't plant Piter's Pickles), and a little cilantro and spearmint bush.

After we were done that day, we watered it and when the sun’s rays gleamed down and reflect the beads of water and made our plants shined…we hugged, shouted, and yelled in ecstasy.

The plants green leaves bursting with energy, every stalk raising its head to the heavens above. And there I was, knee deep into dirt…hands deep into dirt. The worms that crawled through my hands were no longer gross…they showed signs of life. The green of the plants and its sweet aromas enlivened me inside. My heart was at another dirt house, where my father resides now, telling him what beautiful "life" my friend and I have planted. It was showing me answers…

Every week, I found myself expanding the garden. And bless my friend’s heart, she never complained and only helped. I even started to plant the front of the house with flowers and bushes. She jokingly said that I was going to turn the whole backyard into a garden. If she only knew…

The satisfaction didn’t just end on planting. Every day, I found myself out there; sweating, pulling weeds, and feeding them accordingly. I was often sad when I’d accidentally kill one or step on one…but thank goodness for my friend’s patience. She'd just say to me, “others will flourish…”

I don’t have children, but I acted like an over protective father, always watering and looking outside whenever I’d get a chance. And if I see any squirrels or rabbits or moles, I would be terrified with paranoia…that they were gonna eat my kids!!! But my friend taught me to relax, to understand that is nature…I could say that my biggest fear was that I was afraid the eggplants would elope with the tomatoes without my eating them first....

And as the garden bloomed, all signs of life came about. Beautiful dragonflies I had never seen before hung around the house. All sorts of insects, good and bad came and hung around the stalks and leaves. Spiders, frogs, even toads paid visits and I’d find them throughout the yard.

I found myself finding beauty in all life…

The motley colors of different spiders that I was oblivious to before because all I wanted to do was swat them and get them out of my face, are now the catchers of the annoying mosquitoes.

The toad that had gotten a bad rap in the fairy tales, is now a prince in catching my pests.

The bees and the different dragonflies, darting from bulb to bulb as if dancing an air ballet.

The butterflies adorn the flowers with their magnificent beauty. As their wings flutter up and down and about the garden. My smile flutters with it.Gardening has taught me about life.

Whenever I killed something, it taught me that there are others that will come to life. Whenever something was harvested, it taught me the sweetness and the satisfaction that came and after labor. It taught me that dirt not only took in the dead, it also sprouted life. Most of all, it taught me that life is a cycle. A cycle of balance. Watering is a balance, too much or too little can kill plants easily. Same thing with feeding them too much or too little.

Life amongst the insects world also taught me about life. It showed me that wherever life flourishes, it attracts another life.

A flower of an eggplant is a flower of an eggplant. It isn’t like the roses I have planted out front, but I have seen bees hung around both. There was no need for the eggplant flower to be funny or pretty to attract the bee. And the eggplant flower is just as beautiful to me as the rose.

A spider isn’t picky about where it is either, it has webs wherever the wind takes her. And it isn’t picky about her dinner. It is whatever may fly into her net.

It's shown me that I only have to be myself; that I’ll attract those that will come. I think my dad may have learned that toward the end. And in looking back, none of those friends he’s made in his life were worth anything…

There are so much to say about gardening…I am just glad to say that I am lucky to have found it earlier than I have expected, not old and decrepited.

So, to my father, who is lying in “dirt,” I know you are NOT alone…and I AM, the fruit of your labor. And I hope to prosper, bloom, and make you proud one day...

I love you, papa...

(© 2009: Ed F.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

(my father, Piter, passed away a few years ago in July...I didn't get to know him until after he passed away...these are just some of the reflections and life lessons I've learned since his passing...To you, mon papa...) (written around July 2004)

"chasing waves..."

(For my grandmother...Yu-Yi)

She held his hand tightly as they chased the retreating waves.

But when the waves returned and crashed against the cove in the dusk, nature's spectacles demanded respect as the thundering sounds rattled his tiny heart as he clinched her hand tighter.

His face: taut with every muscle pulling backwards that made his eyes squint as the crashing of the waves created tiny raindrops that misted all over him.

She looked at him and smiled as she gave his little hand a squeeze to assure him that he was safe.

She remembered her first wave that scared her witless yet etched a permanant love of the ocean in her soul.

The ocean had never been far from her throughout her life for she always lived near it as the spirit that became alive each time she visited the ocean made her felt young and vibrant.

As the ocean calmed herself again, she strolled back with him to where the waves could no longer scare him .

The skyline shined with residual radiance of the setting sun and across the ocean she steered his sights toward where the sky kissed the water.

Each color brilliantly layered and entwined with one another that excited his tiny mind.

His face: grinning with delight as his eyes widened absorbing this wonder of nature as he sighed an unbeknownst sigh to him at the time that he onlylater realized was a sigh of appreciative wonderment.

Soon, the heavens replaced the colors with darkness but dressed it with the stars and the moon.
She knew it would've been full moon that night because she wanted his first experience to be just as special as hers.

Luna's soft beam illuminated against the silky sand creating a silhouette of the two of them...
hers towering over his even though she was only 4'-11ish...

The two shadows contrasted yet melted together as if in Picasso's paintings.

The cold crisp splashes of the water hit the shore as some of it sprinkled against their legs and awakened their tired bodies while the soft moist sand slowly evaporated the fragrance of the beach under the moonlit sky.

She showed him Orion in the night sky as she told him the tale of the uneventful hunter and how he came to be in the sky.

His face: aglow and his eyes sparkled with delight and the tale of the hunter engraved deeply within him the love for mythology thatwould ensue him for the the rest of his life.

She told him that there are many different beaches in the four corners of the world and that it awaited him.

From the Cape Town in South Afraica to the immaculate reefs of Australia, from the dusk of Iceland to the sunriseof the pacific islands. All these places awaited him to explorer.

She told him she dreamt of touching the seal pups while roaring with the polar bears; she dreamt of walking with the penguins while being splashed by the sea lions; she told him to always keep his dream alive for that will keep hers, as well....

Even though she's never been to most of those places, she asked him to read about them, to seek them out whenever and if he could...she made him the captain of her voyages and made him promise to tell her about it wherever and whenever he would visit.

he reached out his tiny pinky and locked it with hers...a promise made witnessed by the moon,stars,ocean, and the sand...

The cobalt sand was soft and tingling beneath their feet as they started to head back.

She told him the tale of her childhood from years ago where her mother took her to this beach for the first time.

when the waves crashed at her feet under the same full moon and stars lit night that made her high and mesmerized...

She smiled at him and told him that even though she was "old", he made her feel young and that he would keep her young by remembering this night for the rest of his life...

Then, she asked him to chase her footprints as she let go of his hand and sprinted....

laughter followed as he stepped all over her prints that are forever imprinted into his heart...

(© 2009 : Ed F.) (written on 9-16-08)