Written by Gene Cashman III
Photography by David Howard
ouldn't help hearing the conversation next to me. "Maybe" a woman with a thin face and large glasses mused "his heart searches, pauses, ticks, struggles for sound sleep..." her words broken by the screams of a young baby girl. She put in a pacifier and continued speaking to another woman, "because there is only one way out-truth-the tough path, impunity-and because he is a father he worries more about how imbalance will impact everything. He has to be an example, leave a solid legacy..." again the baby cried out- "but I don't understand why he cannot take a few days off." This conversation dominated my supposed vacation breakfast. I rolled my eyes, "what a kick in the teeth." I continued surveying my breakfast menu but couldn't help to add "not only does that woman talk too loud, she is quite presumptive." Betsy frowned "you shouldn't be so presumptive yourself, perhaps he really deserves critique." I frowned back at her "maybe women are too analytical about their husbands and what they are trying to provide." I suddenly wished we had stayed in for breakfast. Perhaps, I was feeling guilty for working too much. The woman continued talking loudly. Our waiter seemed lost. What a mess.
"Heavenly day," Yaya said as she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She squinted out into the brightness, "what a glorious day!" We pulled up next to her, arriving home from our breakfast date. She stood from planting geraniums by the mailbox. "I hope breakfast was a delight." We both coyly smiled and almost simultaneously said "yep." We parked and walked together into the main room of the house. The cousins were piled on the couch playing fort. Betsy peeled off to our room to change into a swimsuit for the river. I plopped down in the middle of all the kids. The room smelled like sweat, body odor, maple syrup and morning breath. I sat with the children reveling in their stinky innocence. I cannot even begin to understand what my soul was like at their age. They invited me deeper into their morning, into their imagination circle. I watched with wonder and humility. I was proud to be worthy of the invite. Incidentally, they invited me to be a giant banana peel in their jungle passion play. I was thrilled.
There are no instructions that come with marriages or children. This doesn't mean there isn't opinion, just no definite smoking gun of how to do it "right." I thought about this as the scene changed in their day and they all scrambled off to the next adventure leaving me alone; a browning banana peel-yesterdays garbage. My current world view is through the lens of a father and a husband. I love being both, yet I don't have a clue how to be perfect in either role. I am okay with that, because I know that no one else knows the answers either. So, in my rickety armor I press on and love my family in the only ways my heart and mind know how-passionate and sometimes irrationally passionate. Betsy emerged and I gasped at her beauty-even after two children and 16 years-she still reduces me to wide eyed stares. "Bets" I said. "Geno" she replied, as if she already knew my apology. She cupped my face in her hands. She smelled like suntan lotion and summer. I appreciated her grace and stood up to join her on the dock. Life rebalanced.
As we walked towards the front yard, my father emerged from the deck holding Knox, my son. The two wore grins that only brothers, soldiers and or thieves wear after something bold, funny or mischievous happens. I suppose papas and their grandson's are now included in that list. Knox with an infant crew cut, Papa with a grey flat top smiled like pyromaniac cherubs after a summer thunderstorm. Red cheeked and guilty looking they approached us with giggly grins. My brain burst forth emotion in the form of an ear to ear smile. "What have you two been into?" I curiously asked. "What happens on papa dates stays on papa dates. No dice son." I rolled my eyes and let the two of them pass without any further interrogation. It made me happy that my son and father were bonding in happy ways. I was reminded of the time spent with my grandfather; those sweet memories made me smile. Gene Sr. was always so big and strong-whistling his way around the Oyster Street cottage fussing over his wife Isabel and taking special interest in whatever I was into at the time. He is such a good man, but so much has changed; life, like the tides waits for no man.
The last time we were together, my grandfather and I, was at Isabel's funeral. I will never forget the image of him strapped to a stretcher covered in blankets and overcoats on that chilly spring day. An aged, gaunt face peered heavenward, eyes cloudy with rain-but he was alive and on that day strong. My heart compartmentalized that image and the flurry of emotion it evoked-my memories a kaleidoscope. Three generations of Gene's in dark blue suits and a fourth, Eugene Knox, squirming in his mother's arms. The tide comes in, the tide goes out. The tapestry hung that day wasn't black; there was no poison or hopeless sorrow-but rather poignant celebration. However, that image was a reminder that even the strongest stone pillars eventually wear down. My conclusive thought about that day and all the events that had occurred in the present one was how important it is to fill your children with very best parts of you. So, that when the winds and tides of life erode you, the best chips carry on in them, sustain and nurture them. My eternal memory of my grandfather will never be him at that funeral. Rather the chips and chunks of him that carry on in me are of how he adored his wife, how he humbly served others and how he stood up for what he believed, no matter what. Every time I see him now, I hug him tighter than ever as a thank you for the years he invested in me.
The May River gleamed as sun lit diamonds floated and bobbed on its surface. Betsy held my hand as we walked the wood planked dock. "Thanks for all your hard work" she said out of the blue. "I know it's hard to leave and go to work all day. You are sacrificing so much for us. Thank you." She yanked on my hand to stop me and turned me so she could look into my eyes. "You are a good daddy, too." This is why I love my wife. I am so imperfect and like any normal person struggling just to keep everything balanced. Yet, in spite of all the flaws, the fussing and the cussing she knows how to perfectly set me at ease. "Yeah" she said "I could just tell by your response at breakfast that you needed some affirmation." She was smiling now, not quite laughing at me, but definitely teasing me a bit. I smiled back, knowing this too was her way of keeping me loose. "I know- it was a bit of an overreaction, especially to an eavesdropped conversation." We started walking again, ready for a swim in the river. I was happy and more convinced than ever that there is no perfect formula for a life well lived, only the grace to forgive and the strength to keep investing in the best interests of others.
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