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 – 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 – 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 - 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 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