Dear Oliver – I Have a Dream

February is recognized in the United States as Black History Month, so perhaps those of us who are not black should pause and reflect.

You and I are white males, born and raised in the South. Our families go back generations in Georgia and Florida, which means our ancestors might have owned black people who were slaves. Someday, you will discover how beneficial it is to be white and male, especially in the southern United States. We are favored with something called the power of whiteness.

I can’t turn back the clock and undo a racially divisive past. But I can choose to live in a world where I am proud of who I am without feeling superior to anyone else. I am proud of my own family and of the people (both black and white) of my generation and older who live, work, and play together in friendship and brotherly love. I am proud of a southern heritage of politeness where we say hello to strangers on the street and we greet friends and relatives with a hug.

In August 1963 (when I was 13 years old) Baptist minister and civil rights activist, Martin Luther King Jr. gave a speech from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC. It has come to be known as his I Have a Dream speech. In it he said, “I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.” Today—and I hope when you are reading this someday—that dream has become a reality.

But it is still worth reminding ourselves that we are naturally drawn to people who look like us, so we need to work at being open to the potential value of everyone we meet. My hope for you is that you will grow up seeing the good in people by embracing diversity and judging them by the content of their character, not by their appearance—whether male or female; gay or straight; black, brown, or white. I hope you will live by Dr. King’s words:

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character".

Dear Oliver – By the Book

Here we are at another milestone. You are halfway to your second birthday at eighteen months of age, and our paths are still parallel in many ways. We both smile a lot, laugh out loud when we’re amused, and chatter nonsense constantly.  

We also like books. Yesterday, when grandma and I were having you stay at our house, I saw you sitting on the floor, thumbing through a book by yourself. Grandma keeps a healthy pile of your books on a shelf under our living room coffee table. They are at your eye level when you are sitting on the floor. You have evolved over the past few months from having little interest in books to sitting quietly as we read them to you to, now, taking a break from playing with your cars and trucks and carefully thumbing through the heavy, cardboard pages pointing to the choo choos, trucks, and cars on the pages.

I also like books. I read every day and I even like to write books. My latest book will be released by my publisher next week. It is a fiction book—a made-up story—and it takes place nearly a hundred years ago in our hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. When I showed it to you, you seemed fascinated. It has no pictures, but I think you will enjoy it when you’re old enough to read. It has animals in it like horses, mules, and elephants. But best of all, you will be able to read about wagons, trucks, and even a choo choo or two.

Dear Oliver – In Flew Enza

You and I spent the final days of the year 2025 battling the Flu. We tested positive the day after Christmas when I felt like I had some symptoms, but you had been feverish and crabby for days. Grandma noticed that you had mastered the technique of wiping your nose by dragging your arm across it resulting in a crusty mucous buildup on your forearm. Your mom had been sick for a few days, as well. We had all been in close proximity for the Christmas holidays, but we were all vaccinated against the flu. I figured you just had a cold. We tend to blame your daycare environment as the incubator for such things, but who knows where it came from?

On Friday evening, the day after Christmas, I began feeling bad enough to use a home test kit for COVID and the Flu. The good news was that it was not COVID (which can be deadly in old folks like me). The bad news was a strong positive test for Influenza A. Your mom and dad tested you a few hours later and you also tested positive for the same strain of Influenza. You were way further along in the process because you had been feeling bad for days. You seemed lightly affected and were almost finished. My ordeal was just beginning. It would be several days before my runny nose, cough, sinus pain, and general malaise would subside. During your episode, you wiped your nose with your arm and went about your business fussing at anyone who got in your way. I spent 5 days inside the house, resting in my recliner, taking cold medicine and long naps, and tenderly dabbing at my sore nose with tissues.

We are both fortunate that we live in a time of vaccines, antibiotics, and knowledge of how to deal with the flu. You seem to have come through it unphased. As for me, I am still struggling with a sore throat and fatigue five days after I tested positive.

During the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918, people had little more than superstition and luck to help them. It started like any flu with a cough, headache, chills, and fever, but it proved far more deadly than anyone expected. It broke out in early 1918 and quickly spread to nearly every part of the world. In some remote places, entire villages were wiped out. October 1918 became the deadliest month in U.S. history when 195,000 people died from the Spanish flu. It seemed nothing could stop it. But it finally ran its course. Nearly one hundred years have passed since this epidemic rocked the world. It seems ironic that this disastrous event is memorialized in a children nursery rhyme that was sung while skipping rope:

I had a little bird, its name was Enza, I opened the window, and in flew Enza.

Here’s to a healthy 2026. Happy New Year. Little Buddy!

Dear Oliver – It Takes a Village

When you were just over a year old, you and your parents moved in with grandma and me while your new house was being remodeled. After four months, two weeks before Christmas, the house was finished and you moved back home. When you first moved in with us, it felt crowded and uncomfortable. But as the weeks wore on, I came to enjoy having you and your parents around. All of us living under one roof is a family way of life that must be thousands of years old, dating back to times when people lived in wooded huts and in hillside caves.

It is good for children to be surrounded by parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins who help shoulder responsibilities, burdens, and joys of our shared lives. Since parents don’t instinctively know everything about raising a child, they tend to seek advice from doctors, nurses, and midwives. But in the past, it was family that stepped in, grandparents, aunts and uncles, people who learned from their elders. It is known as generational knowledge—the wisdom, skills, and cultural practices passed down from older to younger generations through observation, explicit teaching, and shared experiences. It is knowledge that comes from the village.

It has been a privilege to have a small part in your learning to walk, talk, and ride your little 4-wheeled push-bike. I enjoyed our stroller walks to watch traffic up on Covington Highway, the afternoons kicking up leaves in the backyard, and the evenings playing in front of the fireplace in our living room. Most days, your mom or dad took you to daycare while grandma and I enjoyed picking you up, usually a little early to give you time to play outside. When you didn’t feel well, we all took turns holding you, although it was your mom that woke up to cuddle you in the middle of the night. My own bedtime came earlier as I tried to overcome the pleasant sense of exhaustion that enveloped me after you were asleep.

Having you around also caused me to reflect on all that I missed with my other grandchildren who live in far-off cities. And it made me wonder how much of my own childhood was shaped by people other than my parents. Grandma Porter escorted me on bus rides downtown, Grandpa and Grandma Malone took me on aimless car rides around town, Uncle Norman taught me how to replace the head gasket on my ’56 Chevy, and Aunt Zola and Uncle Louie allowed us to spend weekends at their cabin on Lake Tarpon.

You have your own village and are building similar memories right now. You are being shaped by visits to see Grandpa Jimmy and Grandma Jenise in Blakely, Georgia where you ride the tractor and play with your cousin Whitaker. You travel to Woodstock to see your friend Henry. You will make friends in your new neighborhood. And grandma and I will be right beside you. All of us are happy to be part of your village.

Dear Oliver – The Spoken Word (finally)

At 16 months of age, you have finally started speaking. For the past few months, you have been vocally active at a high volume—seeming to like the way your voice echoes in the hallway. We have been reading to you for months, and you have learned to say car (“caw”), tried to say truck, and when I asked, “Where is the cat?” in an open book, you placed your finger on it without hesitation. I can’t say you were talking, but you were darned close.

You were also growing visibly frustrated at not being able to make yourself understood, especially at mealtimes. I have been looking forward to understanding you better – your likes and dislikes, aches and pains, what makes you happy or sad, afraid or tired. Words are becoming more important to both of us.

I love words. Grandma and I play word puzzles on our phones every day. And anyone who knows me knows I like to write. There is just something about the creative process that I find satisfying—finding the right word, the perfect turn of phrase, the rhythm of the story.

In my parent’s generation, people wrote letters to each other. Lovers penned heartfelt missives, soldiers wrote letters from the frontlines, and spies used letters to send coded messages. These days, we prefer to generate posts, texts, and emails that are brief, impulsive, and superficial.

One of the most moving letters I ever heard was written during the American Civil War by Major Sullivan Ballou on July 14, 1861. Major Ballou’s letter reads like poetry: “But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights, … and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.”

Tragically, Sullivan Ballou was killed at the First Battle of Bull Run, just a week after he wrote his letter. But his words are still an inspiration more than 160 years later. I wish I could write as well as Sullivan Ballou and have my words inspire someone a hundred years after I’m gone.

But today, it is your words that interest me. After months of pointing very deliberately at nothing in particular and verbalizing sounds that may or may not have sounded like car or dog or dad, you have begun to purposefully and in context repeat words like bye-bye, outside, all done, ball, and (most telling) no no no. You have also begun to appreciate the written word when you pull books from your bookshelf and turn pages by yourself.

English poet John Dryden said, “Words are but pictures of our thoughts.” I look forward to hearing your thoughts. And I hope you learn to love words as much as I do.

Dear Oliver – The learning curve of life

October 2025

I sure enjoy watching you learn how to be a 15-month-old person, and I see why we call people your age toddlers. That’s how you look with your stiff-legged, flat-footed shuffle. You can move pretty fast when you want to. But you fall down frequently—usually on your diaper padded behind but sometimes as a faceplant resulting in lumps and bruises. Your language has shifted from grunts and pointing into a more melodic and sing-song cadence with a few “words” sprinkled into your stream of consciousness. Last night, you surprised us all when you repeated the word “outside” when we asked the dogs if they needed to go there. You love playing in the back yard.

You and I are on the learning curve of life. The problem is, we’re at opposite ends of the curve. Your learning is speeding up. Mine is slowing down. You’re learning to use crayons. I forgot why I walked into the room. You’re learning to walk and talk. I’m forgetting people’s names before we finish our conversation.

I recently watched you on video learning how to color at school as you watch older kids. I helped teach you to sit in your miniature rocking chair so you could snack and watch TV. And you learned to walk holding a cookie in each hand all by yourself—a sort of innate talent.

As for me, I’m still learning, too. I earned a master’s degree from the University of Georgia at the age of 60, self-published a novel at age 63, learned to drive a mule wagon and wrote a book about it at 66, and published a memoir at 70. Now, at 75, I’m learning about how toddlers like you develop.

You are participating in several types of learning: Visual learning (watch and learn), Physical learning (try and fail), Verbal learning (don’t touch), and Reflection (not sure this one applies, yet). You seem to be advancing nicely.

When I recently asked you to place your sippy cup on the table rather than the floor, you did. When I asked you to hand me an empty Cheetos bag off the floor, you did. (Did I say Cheetos? I meant to say Healthy Bites). After watching the dog carry a large, red, rubber ball in her mouth, you did the same thing with no hands. (It was hilarious, but I’m not sure I’ll mention that to your mom). As the celebrated Spanish author Miguel de Cervantes wrote in his classic work Don Quixote in the early 1600s, “It’s good to live and learn.”

Dear Oliver – My Snoozing Buddy

You and I share a daily habit. We both start getting cranky and out-of-sorts shortly after lunch every day. It’s time for our naps. You have been taking naps since the day you were born. I stopped taking naps during my school and working life, but started again after I retired from my job, about ten years ago. When I was working, I found it amusing—perhaps even childish—that my dad would head to the bedroom every afternoon for his nap. But it turns out, dad was in good company.

Famous adult nappers include writers, artists, philosophers, inventors, statesmen, and generals—some of whom are quoted as saying: “The replenishing thing that comes with a nap – you end up with two mornings in a day.” “I count it as an absolute certainty that in paradise, everyone naps. A nap can offer a glimpse into a twilight nether world where gods play, and dreams happen.” “Reading and naps, two of life's greatest pleasures, go especially well together.”

Until recently, you took two naps every day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Now you only take one nap a day. Reducing your naps to once daily seems to be a part of your growing process—like no more formula and baby bottles, eating solid food, and walking and talking. I’m not sure why reducing naps is considered progress, except that it might help you sleep better at night.

When it is time for your nap you let us know by yawning and rubbing your eyes. So, we find a quiet space for you in the bedroom. As for me, I prefer to lay on the screen porch where I can watch the birds and butterflies flitting around the garden and listen to the squirrels and chipmunks fussing at some perceived threat. I might even compose an essay like this one in my head while I soak in the atmosphere and drift off to sleep.

According to Sleepdoctor.com, there are several types of Naps. Short naps typically last about 15 or 20 minutes while longer naps may last an hour or more. Both can be effective, but experts tend to recommend shorter naps. Sleep too long and you might wake up groggy or disorientated.

Some naps even have names. A power nap, for example, is a brief nap, generally only lasting 10 to 20 minutes. People around the world take power naps to relieve daytime sleepiness and increase their productivity at work.

The recovery nap, or replacement nap, is a period of daytime sleep that’s meant to benefit people who didn’t sleep well the night before. Your parents might need a recovery nap after you had a bad night.

A person who works the night shift might take a proactive nap. This type of planned nap is typically longer than a power nap and can often last several hours.

My naps are called recreational naps because they just give me pleasure. I have no trouble sleeping at night, but I do start to drag late in the day. So, I enjoy my afternoon nap, just like my dad did.

As usual, my dad was way ahead of his time in recognizing what I just recently discovered from “modern” research. Dad must have known that naps increase alertness and may improve working memory, which is how the brain stores and manipulates information. Short daytime naps can have a positive effect on learning, can help us become more emotionally stable, and can improve our mood. Naps might even have positive effects on our immune systems, making us less likely to catch colds. British poet Lord Byron (who died over 200 years ago) said “Always nap when you can. It is cheap medicine.”

You don’t seem to mind your naps. When you are tired, you go down pretty easily for an hour or so. I suppose the day will come when you will fight it. And when you begin first grade, naps will no longer be part of your routine—perhaps for the rest of your life. That’s when you and I will part ways. I will still get cranky and out-of-sorts after lunch. So, I plan to follow the advice of that great philosopher, Winnie the Pooh, who said, “Let’s begin by taking a smallish nap or two.”

Dear Oliver – One Small Step

You started walking today. I saw it in a video from your daycare center. With encouragement from your teachers, you took 8 or 10 wobbly steps to get from a cabinet to a chair.

For weeks, we’ve watched you practice walking behind a wheeled push-toy that reminded me of my mom pushing her wheeled ‘rollator’ during her final days.  Finally, at thirteen and a half months of age, you took your first, unassisted, I-need-to-get-there-by-myself steps. Now a whole world opens up to you—a lifetime of walking, ambling, strolling, sauntering, hiking, marching, and running.

That 1st step is a leap of faith for all of us. As minister and civil rights activist Martin Luther King, Jr said “Faith is taking the first step even when you can’t see the whole staircase.” Plenty of other famous people have commented on the importance of a single step. Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu said, “A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.” And before astronaut, Neil Armstrong stepped out of his spacecraft as the first man to set foot on the moon, he said, “One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.”

I love walking. It is good exercise, and I get to see interesting scenery, including flowers, birds, and wildlife. I come from a long line of walkers, although it skipped a generation with my parents. They didn’t walk much. But when my brothers and I spent weekends with Grandma Porter, she walked us all over St. Petersburg, Florida. We walked to the grocery store and drug store when she needed supplies. We walked to the ice cream shop after dinner. And we walked four blocks to the bus stop on Sixteenth Street when she needed to go downtown—where we walked some more.

Grandma Porter didn’t walk because it was good for her health. She wasn’t worried about her cardio workout or how many steps she got in. And she certainly didn’t walk for ‘fun’. She was just a walker. And so am I.

Author, Wayne Dyer says, “When you dance, your purpose is not to get to a place on the floor. It is to enjoy each step along the way.” That’s the way I feel about walking.

Now, you’ve taken your 1st steps on life’s journey. Enjoy the dance, Buddy. I look forward to our walks together.

Dear Oliver - On the Move (August 2025)

You don’t know it yet, but you will soon be living in a new house. Your parents have bought a home near me in Avondale Estates, so you will be leaving the home you were born into on Ridgedale Road in the Kirkwood neighborhood. I don’t think you will have any memories of that house, but you may wonder about it someday. Once again, our lives are on a parallel track.

When I was born, my parents lived with my dad’s mother. We lived with Grandma Porter for the first year or so of my life until we moved into the house that my brothers and I were raised in. I wrote about my grandma’s house in an article titled “Being Part of the ‘Village’” in my book, Roaming, Rambling, and Reminiscing, Musings from a South Georgia Mule Wagon. 

I am happy that you are moving into my neighborhood because you will be living just a few blocks from my house. But I do have fond memories of being with you as a baby in Kirkwood—the walks around Bessie Branham Park, swinging in the bucket swings, and picking you up from the daycare behind Turner AME Church. But your memories will begin in Avondale Estates, and I can’t predict what those memories might be. All I know is, I look forward to being a part of them.

Love,

Grandpa

Dear Oliver - Carpe Diem

As I have been watching your growth and development, I have once again had to pause and reflect on my own life. You have helped me appreciate how precious every day is. Compared to you, my time is relatively short, so I need to make every day count. But, if I step inside your life, the same can be said for you. You have lived one full year of your life, and it has been momentous.

I suppose from your perspective, you are already making every day count. You don’t have any worries, yet. Those of us around you are doing the worrying. When you are hungry you make a fuss, and somebody feeds you. When you are tired, you go to sleep. And when you don’t like something we feed you, you spit out. But, on the score card of life, you are already contributing to society without even realizing it.

We tend to discount a baby’s early years because we know you won’t remember any of it.  We grownups like to project ahead to your 1st day of school, your high school graduation, and your marriage to the love of your life. But life doesn’t begin when we reach certain milestones. I hope you have a long life and reach each of these stages, but your life began last year, and you have already had a huge impact on the world. You have touched family and friends. I’ve seen strangers pass you in the supermarket or on the street and smile. You brightened their day without even realizing. And your impact on my life has been huge.

A famous person once said you will achieve success when you have lived well, laughed often, and loved much. That sums up my goals in life and it looks like you are doing pretty well, too. So, continue to Carpe Diem, Buddy—seize the day!

Love, Grandpa

P. S. By the way, you are not supposed to spit out your food at the table in front of us. When you get a little older, I’ll teach you how to spit it into your hand when nobody is looking and feed it to the dog.

Dear Oliver – Happy 1st Birthday

It is fitting that you spent your 1st birthday at Zoo Atlanta, because it was a chance visit to Grant Park in the spring of 1970 that drew me into a 40-year career working with animals in zoos. I met Grandma Karen when I worked at the Louisville Zoo. Your dad was born when I worked at the Toledo Zoo. He spent the 1st ten years of his life in and around that zoo.

So, it was on a hot July morning that we jockeyed for position at the Zoo Atlanta viewing areas. You were suitably impressed with the elephants and giraffes, pointing them out to us and calling them “gogs”. You also patiently watched the gorillas and cautiously petted some goats. But you reserved your most enthusiastic response for the many car-like utility vehicles (“caws”) that cruised the pathways.

I can’t predict much about how your life will unfold, but I do think animals will feature prominently. You share your home with two dogs, Alice and Libby, and I believe “gog” was your first, recognizable word. And a fitting first-word it is. Dogs don’t just live with you. They crawl around the floor with you, they steal your food, lick your face, and give you unconditional love and affection.

A couple of weeks ago, Grandma and I brought Libby and Alice to our house for a few weeks while your backyard is having some work done. Your dad reported that when you came home from daycare, you noticed their absence (a remarkable bit of awareness) by saying “gogs”.

Dogs have also been a part of my life since the day I was born, too. My childhood dogs—Mitsy, Tippy, and Snoopy—were yard dogs that never came inside the house. But in those days children seldom went in the house either, except to eat or sleep. The dogs ran with us, or we ran with them.

Grandma Karen and I shared our home with Simba and Jana for the first fourteen years of our marriage, then Chelsea and Bexley for another twelve years. Now, we are content to have Alice and Libby stay with us on occasion.

I love having dogs around me. They help me understand the deep connection between humans and animals. When I lay my hand on a dog, I feel a sense of calm and wellbeing that defies any rational explanation. Maybe that is why I was drawn to a profession that allowed me to work with animals.

When I wrote my book, Lessons from the Zoo, I included a bonus lesson titled, “Love Your Neighbor”.  In it, I explore the spiritual dimension of how we deal with animals and how my faith in God reinforces my love of animals. We humans have a tendency to think of ourselves as separate and above the animals. We treat them as objects to be owned, exploited, and even eaten. But the world is a multispecies community, and we should recognize our spiritual relationship with all living things.

Your dad, Ian Porter and gorilla - Toledo Zoo 1992

You won’t remember anything about your first trip to the zoo. But that’s okay. I don’t remember anything about my first trip to the zoo, either. Memories, it would seem, are another area where our lives intersect. Your memories are just beginning to build as my memories are fading like the sound of a passing car. That’s why I am trying to write down as much about our lives together as I can. Maybe someday, you’ll look at these musings and remember how much life you have already lived and how deeply you are loved.

In a contest of important figures in your life, I would probably rank a distant 4th right now (maybe 6th if you count your dogs). But I can’t help but feel there is a special bond between us. We’re just a couple of guys—one young and one old—trying to figure out our place in the universe.

So, Happy Birthday buddy. I can’t wait to see what adventures your second year of life will bring us.

Love,

Grandpa

Dear Oliver – Happy Days

Your 1st year has been a whirlwind of activities, events, and milestones. One of the highlights for me was when Grandma Karen and I traveled to Hawaii with you and your parents in November 2024. We stayed in a condo on the island of Maui where I celebrated my 75th birthday and your mom celebrated her 30th a couple of days later. We spent a few days walking along sandy beaches and enjoying the warm ocean breezes, then drove up to see an inactive volcano at Haleakala National Park. We were shocked at how cold and windy it was at 10,000 feet of elevation. We weren’t dressed for it, but we figured out a way to bundle you up against the cold.

Later, we flew over to the big island of Hawaii and had a lovely few days driving around the lava fields and beaches before flying home. You had a few “melt downs” on the long car rides but generally were very happy the whole time. Traveling with you as a 4-month-old was a pleasure!

In December, I noted to myself that “there is nothing like having a baby fall asleep on your chest. He has a bit of a cold. Oliver’s raspy, snoring breaths are five to my one. He has just started eating solid foods from a spoon. Karen fed him some mashed-up banana with some baby cereal & formula. He’s like a baby bird when he sees the spoon – mouth open, tongue out, lunging forward. But he’s not sure what to do when the food gets in his mouth. He pushes it out with his tongue.”

By the end of February 2025, at just over 7 months of age, you had 2 teeth, you were able to sit up without support and would be crawling soon. You were verbally babbling but not forming actual words yet.

Around this time, it occurred to me that you and I are living in historic times. The world is changing in ways I could have never imagined—and I’ve lived through plenty of changes. During my lifetime, humans have created computers and the internet, landed humans on the surface of the moon, and transplanted a human heart. I wonder about the world you will live in when you are old enough to read this. It will be very different from anything I can imagine.

These days, we seem to be stuck in a period when people with extreme opinions and without humor or compassion are entrenched in their ideas and ready to do battle with each other. Compromise and common sense seem to be in short supply. You, of course, are happily oblivious to all this.

You are a joyful child most of the time and I love it that you smile a lot and laugh, on occasion. I am sorry we didn’t think to make a note of your first laugh because I recently learned that the Navajo people of the American Southwest have a specific tradition around celebrating a baby’s first laugh. At around three months of age, they watch the baby closely for that first real giggle. The person who has the good fortune of eliciting that first laugh is then responsible for throwing a party,

The belief behind the tradition is that when a baby is born, he belongs to two worlds: the spirit world and the physical world. The first laugh is seen as a sign of the baby’s desire to leave the spirit world and permanently join his earthly family. I wish we could have celebrated your first expression of joy as a milestone in your life.

I was fortunate to be raised in a family that shared a lot of laughter. One of my earliest memories of my father was on a road trip to Gainesville, Florida to visit his brother, my Uncle Bobby. I was in the back seat of the car looking over his shoulder (no seat belts or car seats in those days) when a bug hit the windshield glass on the front of the car. My dad turned to me and said, “Do you know what that bug said when he hit the windshield?”

 “No,” I replied.

Dad said, “If I had the guts, I’d do that again.”

I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard.

Bundled up at the top of the volcano

Life will throw you plenty of challenges, difficulties, and even tragedy. But I hope you will remain positive and find your way back to happiness. A famous person once said, "A day without laughter is a day wasted."

I am happy and laugh a lot. My mission, as your grandpa, will be to help you laugh, giggle, or smile every day of your life. When you get a little older, I’ll answer important questions for you like: What is worse than finding a worm in your apple? And, How do you get a squirrel to like you?

In the meantime, keep smiling!!

Dear Oliver - Introduction

In a couple of weeks, my youngest grandson will celebrate his first birthday. I have other Grands—and I love all of them dearly—but Oliver is the first one I’ve lived near enough to share his life. Karen and I see him often and keep him for the day once a week. I have watched his progress closely and have come to wonder what the world of his future will look like.

When I was his age, cars didn’t have seatbelts and bicycles didn’t come with helmets. We had a small, black and white TV and a telephone on a shelf in the hallway. A terrible world war was a few years in the past and space travel was the stuff of futuristic science fiction.

I certainly don’t long for the “good old days”. I love my life today. But I do wonder what the future holds for someone who was born the year I turned 75. He won’t remember anything from his early years, so I thought I’d write some letters to his future self. His first birthday seems like a good time to begin.

Dear Oliver,

Happy 1st Birthday!

I am surprised at how much this old man enjoys being in your company. I have older grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but they all live in Louisville, Kentucky. I seldom get to see them. You’re the first grandchild I’ve lived near enough to see weekly. Words can’t describe how I feel when you recognize me and break into a smile. Even at a few months of age, you have a great disposition, are very inquisitive, and change from week to week.

I am also amused by some of the parallels during your first year of life and my 75th. For example, your pudgy little fingers struggle to pick up small objects and bits of food. My wrinkled, bony fingers also struggle to function on occasion. My hands shake so badly I am constantly dropping things and can barely get a forkful of food to my mouth. My handwriting has gone from bad to unrecognizable.

 Another parallel is that we are both unsteady on our feet. You will soon be learning to walk, and I am forgetting how to. A couple of years ago, when I was in the hospital for hernia surgery, I was given a wrist band that declared I was a “Fall Risk”. It was probably just because of my advanced age. I haven’t fallen yet, but I do wobble on occasion like you.

And, I have been thinking about teeth—because you have teeth coming in and I just had a molar tooth extracted because it broke off. I now have a painful hole in my jaw that will take a few weeks to heal. Your tooth pain is from the upper canines that will soon join your four incisors. Your pain will heal as well, but you will have new teeth to show for it.

I love writing but don’t sell many books. Maybe I’m just not very good at it. I’ve published three nonfiction books, two novels. and recently completed my third (and final) novel—The Muleskinner and The King. Once I get that published, I’ll be content spending my days writing to the future you. But writing this letter to you is a unique experience. In my other writing, I know what the journey of my characters will be, and I have a good idea of how the story will end. As I write these words to the future you though, I have no idea what our journey will look like or how and when it will come to an end. I just know I’m looking forward to spending as much time with you as I can.

I just came across a lovely quote that sums up how I feel about our life together. It comes from the 1997 book by Mitch Albom called Tuesdays With Morrie. Morrie Schwartz is dying, but he says that as long as we can love each other, and remember the feeling of love, we can die without ever really going away. All the love we create is still there. We live on in the hearts of everyone we have touched. Someday, when you’re old enough to read this, you may not remember me. But the love I’m giving you will live on inside your heart and my spirit will be with you for the rest of your life.

I'll write again next week.

Love,

Grandpa