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 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 – 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 - 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