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 – 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 – 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